


Ridiculous

by CharingCross1950



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Books, China, Democratic Republic of the Congo, F/M, Falling In Love, Firenze | Florence, Forgiveness, Libraries, Lisbon - Freeform, London, Oxford, Romance, Shakespeare, Slow Burn, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-03-09 10:04:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 80,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18914746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharingCross1950/pseuds/CharingCross1950
Summary: It's been five years since the Battle of Hogwarts.Five years of peace.Hermione's done University, begun her work at the Ministry, and settled into a career.She couldn't possibly be...bored, could she?





	1. The Right Promethean Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hermione expects you’ve read about all of her adventures with one Harry Potter. Her adventures now include some similar, unfortunate scenes of violence. Hermione believes that, if you feel unequal to absorbing content found in the United Nation’s website, her adventures here might be unnerving. The real world is scary.

May 3, 2003

"Are you sure about this?" I couldn't help the note of skepticism in my voice as I clutched my friend's hand in a moment of trepidation.

"Yes Hermione!" Ginny sounded a lot like Molly then, and I imagined she'd have had her other hand on her hip if it hadn't already been linked through her husband's arm.

"It's just a bit more daring than I'd normally..."

"Hermione Granger, you helped defeat the darkest wizard of all time a mere five years ago. Don't tell me that you're chickening out now because the slit in your gown is a bit higher than you're used to." Ginny rolled her eyes at me.

"Why I ever let you dress me..." I joked nervously.

"C'mon Hermione, you look amazing," Harry said gently. He had learned a lot of tact in the last five years. "Just smile and no one will care what you're wearing."

I took a deep breath and grinned at him gratefully. I fingered my wand in its hidden thigh holster, just for reassurance.

"You both look amazing too," I said.

"Ok, then let's go in already," Ginny insisted. "I'm starving."

 

We entered the crowded Atrium of the Ministry of Magic to the flash of magical cameras. A reporter leapt forward and tried to waylay Harry, but he deftly sidestepped her, sliding a protective arm around Ginny’s waist, and steered us toward the food.

The "Victory Ball," a five year celebration of the end of the last wizarding war had brought out plenty of friends from the Hogwarts days. We had arrived a bit late due to Ginny's fussing over little Teddy Lupin and my fussing over my hemline, and I could already see many of our classmates mingling with the older generation of Order members and ministry workers alike.Molly and Arthur Weasley stood chatting with the Minister, Kingsley Shackelbolt. Near them stood Bill and Fleur with George and Angelina.

I took another deep breath and let go Ginny's hand as she was surrounded by her Harpies teammates. I snagged a glass of champagne from a tray that floated through the crowd and sipped it carefully.

Harry had fallen into easy conversation with Neville who was smiling nervously between the boy-who-lived and his apparent date, Hannah, who had a reassuring hand on his arm. Neville had been the least comfortable with all the attention we received after the war but still managed to brave this feeding frenzy of sentimentality.

I turned away from the food table to survey the crowd. Several ginger heads bobbed in the mêlée, but not the tall redhead I was looking for.

"Did Weasley manage to weasel himself out of another odious obligation?" The cold voice drawled close to my ear and I jumped, my hand instinctively grabbing towards my wand at my thigh. 

"Oi, Granger, hitching up your skirts for me already?" Draco Malfoy smirked as I twitched away from him in irritation.

"You're disgusting Malfoy," I said evenly, but I could feel the heat flaming in my cheeks. Despite the fact that I had been forced to work in the same department with the slimy Slytherin since I began at the Ministry the previous year, he still managed to rile me up in an instant. I looked around him in feigned surprise.

"Were you finally let off your leash?" I asked mildly. "Where's your minder?" The Malfoys had done much to publicly atone for their part in the war through the generous splashing about of their still considerable family fortune, but Draco, unlike his father, had managed to just slither out of a stint in Azkaban thanks to Harry's testimony regarding the younger Malfoy's actions. I still wasn't as confident that he should be allowed to wander loose. It had been a sentence of house arrest and limited use of magic. A sort of parole officer had to accompany Draco on any excursions aside from work. He had been allowed to help at the Ministry to try to show that he had some remorse and could behave himself in public.

"Maybe I gave him the slip.” He quirked an eyebrow suggestively, but I read annoyance under his mask of indifference. I felt more confident seeing my barb hit home.

"Maybe I should get Harry then," I mused aloud and tapped the toe of my black high heel on the marble floor in pretend indecision.

Back on familiar ground.

Draco smirked again and slid his gaze over my leg that peeked out from the long skirt of my black dress.

"My my Granger," he drawled with a leer, "who knew you had legs under all those frumpy robes you usually wear."

"They get me around," I snapped and then flushed again at my unintended double entendre. I turned away from him quickly but not before seeing a flash of wicked amusement on his ferrety face.

"Well..." Draco began.

"There you are Hermione!" Ron came around a pillar in a flurry of messy dress robes. I reached out automatically to straighten his collar and pat down his wild cowlick. "Sorry I'm late. Wow! You look great!"

He didn't try to excuse his lateness but his apologetic expression morphed into one of confusion as he noticed Malfoy standing at my left shoulder.

"Did I interrupt something?" He asked with surprising calm. I smiled at him reassuringly.

"Not at all," I said. "I'm glad you're here now. Want to get some food?" I could practically feel Malfoy seething behind me. He never liked it when he couldn't get in the last word. Ron nodded and held out an arm to me which I took gratefully. No hard feelings here.

"It was mad trying to get out of the office," he explained as we stepped back over to the food table. "Paperwork will never be my strong point."

I laughed and released his arm so that we could help ourselves to the incredible array of delicacies before us. We chatted about work and the frustrating number of reports that seemed to be required daily, no matter what department you inhabited. It could get overwhelming, even for me.

 

"Do you want to dance?" Ron asked uneasily an hour later as he watched Harry swing Ginny out onto the dance floor to the delight of the many reporters still congregated by the door.

"You don't have to," I said, laughing, "I really don't mind."He looked a little relieved. We had done our obligatory rounds through the throng and were seated on some comfortable chairs at the edge of the room. Our quiet friendliness was such a gift, and I turned to look at Ron to say so, only to catch him glancing at his watch in a slightly furtive manner.

"You late or something?" I teased. He smiled apologetically.

"Jemma should be off her shift at Mungo’s soon and I'd like to meet her," he said. "I don't like her to walk home alone at night."

My heart swelled with affection for him. I examined my swelling heart and was relieved to find only admiration for the boy who was now such a caring man.

"Go on then," I prompted, "you don't owe anyone here your time and I'll explain to Harry."

"Thanks," he grinned. "See you tomorrow night for dinner?" 

We stood together and I hugged him quickly, not wishing to give the photographers any ideas.

"Of course," I said. “Wouldn't miss a Sunday invite to the Burrow for anything." I walked with him around the edge of the dance floor towards the door.

"And give my love to Gin, will you?" he said as he gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Sure.” I smiled and shoved him through the door. "Make sure you bring Jemma tomorrow!"

He grinned happily as he sloped away. I let my genuine smile linger, and spun around to go pass on his love to Ginny as requested.

"Oof!" I hit a solid wall of black dress robes and looked up to see a pointed chin and silver-blonde hair.

"Weaselby ditching you for his other girlfriend?" Malfoy's smirk was so typical. I longed to slap it off his face like I had done just ten short years ago. My hand actually twitched for a moment and I smiled to myself at the repressed impulse.

Something in Malfoy's eyes flickered.

I pretended to dust off the front of my gown, an exaggerated gesture I had seen him do many times before. I wanted to walk away without lowering myself by replying, but my Gryffindor spirit rose to defend my friend instead.

"Ron would never do that. He's not a coward."

"Leaving your girlfriend at a party is pretty cowardly," Malfoy sneered.

 _Takes one to know one_ , I wanted to say, but somehow I didn't.

"I haven't been Ron's girlfriend for over a year," I stated simply. It was more of an explanation than Draco Malfoy deserved, but it was too late to stop being a blabbermouth this far into my life.

His frozen expression almost made up for my moment of weakness but I didn't have a chance to enjoy it.

"Hermione," Neville laid a protective hand on my arm, "want a quick dance? The reporters have been hounding me to get you out on the dance floor."

"Sure," I agreed. He steered me away from Malfoy who stood immobile by the door.

"You okay?" Neville asked softly as he held me respectfully close for the slow dance. "I know he probably bankrolled this ridiculous shindig, but Malfoy's still a little slime-ball."

I laughed gratefully. Neville had sure grown up right. This evening was turning out so much better than I had expected.

"I'm just glad I don't have to see much of him at work," I admitted. "He really hasn't changed."

 

May 5, 2003 

Sunday’s dinner at the Burrow had been fun and sad and lovely as we laughed and shared memories of friends and family lost in the war. It was a private, much more meaningful memorial than any flashy Ministry bash.

Now Monday found me in subdued spirits. As wonderful as the weekend had been, I felt a strangely ominous lump in the pit of my stomach as I entered the lift and waited for it to hurtle me to my floor in Magical Law Enforcement.

I didn't like ominous feelings, mainly because I didn't believe in them. It didn't help, however, that the first thing I heard as I exited the lift on my level was the sound of my best friend's voice raised in frustration. If you could hear Harry from outside his office, he was angry.

I fought back my intense curiosity and meandered over to my own cramped office. It was the same size as Harry's, but the cramped feeling came from the shelves and piles of books everywhere. A small stack of reports to be completed already lay in a tray on my desk along with several new interdepartmental memos that had landed in my weekend absence.

I started to set my mug of tea next to the tray, moving to sit at my desk, but a voice from the doorway caused me to whirl back around. A heart-shaped face curtained by shiny black hair peeked into my office.

"Mr. Potter needs to see you Miss Granger," she squeaked.

"Now, Amy?" She usually didn't squeak or hide behind the door jamb. My ominous feeling intensified as she nodded quickly and ducked out of sight.

I knew I wasn't in some kind of trouble--Harry wasn't my boss, exactly, but he had been with the department for much longer than I. He was technically an auror, like Ron, but he had quickly earned a well respected role as a leader in the MLE department after his success with a high-profile case that resulted in the capture of two notoriously nasty Voldemort Sympathisers. He now coordinated much of the goings-on between aurors and research investigators. I was one of the research investigators.

I sipped my tea thoughtfully while my mind whizzed through the possible reasons that Harry might be shouting first thing on a Monday morning, and why it might involve me. A suspicion formed in my brain and it was a stinker. I began to smell a rat.

Or possibly a ferret.

I set my tea down and automatically felt for my wand concealed in the sleeve of my robes. It was a nervous habit that I couldn't seem to shake, or maybe didn't want to shake. I stepped towards the doorway but paused to glance at my reflection in the mirror next to the coat-hook.

Hair sufficiently tamed. Collar straight. Armour up, except for twin spots of color on my cheeks. Damned fair skin.

I walked down the hall and paused outside Harry's office. The door was shut but I could hear every word and now recognise a second voice within.

Ferret as suspected.

The hallway was cleared like a dungbomb had gone off so I listened unashamedly for a moment .

"Six months? You've got to be kidding me!" Malfoy's arrogant voice.

"As. I. Said." Harry, loud but in more control.

"I've worked too damn hard for this..."

"I'm the one giving you a chance here Malfoy."

"Oh really..."

"Nobody else would have you anyway. There will be a review after the six months..."

"That's complete bull-sh..."

"She hasn't even agreed yet and you're certainly doing a great job of showing exactly why she shouldn't."

"Give me a break, Potter.” Malfoy sounded like his teeth were clenched now. 

"You're getting more of a break than I think you deserve.” Harry's voice was quieter now and as dangerous as I'd ever heard. "She's my best friend and the most brilliant witch you'll ever have the chance to work with. If you're so lucky."

Shite.

I knocked firmly on the door.

 

"So let me get this straight," I said, sitting back in the chair across from Harry whose one hand was pressed to his desk while the other kept darting up to flatten his messy hair in a gesture so familiar it made my heart twinge. "Malfoy's official leash has been cut since his five years are up, and now the Ministry expects me to keep an eye on him?" I could see Malfoy out of the side of my vision standing grumpily against the wall, but I kept my gaze locked firmly on Harry.

"Pretty much, in a nutshell," Harry's mouth quirked in a half-smile and I could see his shoulders relax a little with relief at my calm reaction.

Malfoy made an impatient noise but I ignored him.

"Why would I agree to something like that?" I asked with genuine interest. I had no illusions of my indispensability within the Ministry--I did my job as well or better than most-- but I also knew that, due to my history, I enjoyed a bit of job security that others may not. It meant I could put my foot down on occasion if I wished.

"Well," Harry assumed a businesslike tone and I suspected that we were coming to the bit of his pitch that he had rehearsed in front of his mirror. I almost smiled at my confidence that this was indeed the case.

"When you came to the MLE last year we didn't have the resources or manpower to fully realize your potential. This would be a chance for you to take on those international research projects that you proposed when you joined the department. It would mean that you could put your university experience to good use and help other wizarding societies that have been neglected by their own government." Harry looked at me expectantly.

I put on an expression that I hoped conveyed a thoughtful nonchalance while really my brain whirled with excitement. I counted to ten and tried to push the thrill of the possibilities back so that I could speak rationally. This still would mean working with Draco Malfoy nearly every day. Was anything worth that?

"So, bribery then?" I quipped. "Tale as old as politics itself. Why would Malfoy want to be part of such a project? Aside from avoiding prison time, of course." It was sort of fun to talk as though he wasn't in the room.

"Too big of a step down from your perfect Oxford?" Malfoy sneered.

Harry cut across him with a glare.

"Malfoy's been working on curse-breaking and translation charms for the last three years and has developed some useful tools that would work well towards your objectives." Harry and I both glanced over as Malfoy gave a distinct snort.

"Waste of bloody time, de-jinxing cursed muggle objects for the senior Weasel.” Malfoy crossed his arms like a petulant child.

My mind sprang to that horrible wintry day in Hogsmeade when a cursed muggle object had nearly killed Katie Bell right before my eyes. I felt a chill slide over me and I took a hard look at Malfoy's sharp, pale face.

"Can I talk to you alone Harry?" I asked quietly, keeping my eyes on Malfoy's turbulent grey ones. He stiffened and looked back at me for a moment, his expression so piercing that I thought maybe he had glimpsed my memory in some fleeting way. He turned without looking at Harry and quickly left the office, shutting the door quietly behind him.

I turned back to face Harry who hadn't quite managed to erase his expression of confused unease but met my gaze now with openness.

"Harry," I kept my voice low, "why really. Why now. Why me?"

"Galleons, I think," he replied with a sigh. “The Malfoys still have deep pockets and the ear of many in the Ministry, although Kingsley assured me that there would be no pressure or repercussions if you turned this down."

"No," I said firmly, "that's not what I mean. Malfoy's essentially free now. He could go anywhere. Bora Bora, Antarctica, anywhere. What is he doing staying here, and why..."

Harry looked very slightly furtive now. His gaze slid over my shoulder and I knew--knew that I was about to get less than the whole truth. He kept his eyes on the shut door and his voice remained low.

"I think maybe it's to do with clearing the Malfoy name. It's important to him, you know?"

Important to him. What an understatement.

I sat thoughtfully for a moment. I should take some time to consider this. Saying "no" wouldn't necessarily mean the end of my ambitions, just the delaying of them until I could earn it the long way.

But I ached for something more fulfilling than the hours of tedious filing and reporting that consumed my days: the excitement of chasing down a puzzle, poring over books to unravel a mystery, looking at a piece of magic to see what it wanted and how it worked, not just analysing afterward what it had done.

Harry was still looking at me. There was no demand in him, just waiting.

"Only six months," I repeated aloud.

He nodded.

“I still have open cases to clear...”

“That’s fine.”

We sat in silence for another moment.

"You understand him better than I do," I observed. Harry nodded again. "Then, do you trust him?"

Harry locked his eyes firmly on mine.

"No."

I looked up at the photo on the shelf above Harry's head. The Order members there smiled and waved at me. Over half their number gone. They were brave and I could continue to be brave.

"Okay," I said. “Six months."

 


	2. Come What Come May

 

June 5, 2003

 

We had survived a month. It had been so far from easy that I almost laughed to myself as I lay in bed letting the early rays of morning sun warm my chilly flat through the big picture window.

We'd had two huge rows over the stupidest things, and yesterday I had actually thrown a china piglet at his head, which was extremely satisfying. He, of course, had blasted it to smithereens with a flick of his wand, smirking at having riled me so thoroughly. I stomped out of the office with my piles of research.

Somehow Malfoy had found me a few hours later, hidden away in a reading room ofthe British Library with stacks of Arabic texts around me as a shield. He slid into the ancient green chair opposite me and pulled a text across the table, perusing it with the practiced ease of his unique translation charm as I stared at him in irritation. He finally glanced up and met the fury in my eyes. He schooled his expression into mock repentance.

"Sorry I didn't let you brain me with a pig, Granger."

I couldn't help myself.

"Not forgiven," I smiled and looked back down at my work.

That had been the moment when I thought that maybe I could survive the next five months. I had lain in bed last night thinking about our current project. I knew what the next step had to be, but I had been too scared of what it would entail to follow through. I wasn't scared of myself anymore.

Walking to the Ministry was a luxury I normally reserved for those mornings that I managed to get out of the house early enough to stop for a coffee. I was anxious to get to the office this morning, but I decided to walk anyway to collect my thoughts.

I stopped at my favourite bakery and got my extra-hot latte and bun. As I turned to leave, something in the display case caught my eye. I gasped and quickly turned back to the attendant.

"Excuse me," I leaned over the counter, “could you put that dragon, yes, the little plastic one, on a cupcake?"

 

"What's this?" Malfoy asked suspiciously as I set the white box gently on his desk in front of him. I raised an eyebrow and sat down across from him without invitation. He didn't touch the box but continued to eye me narrowly. I smiled in return. I could wait forever.

"I've been thinking," I said as I dropped my bag on his desk, "we're going to have to go there."

"Where?"

“Baghdad of course," I slapped my notebook down next to my bag. He stared at me incredulously.

"The school is desperate and I think we've done all we can do from here," I continued. "They have lost half of their staff due to evacuation and the students could be in danger if they can't stabilise the building's protective enchantments. I don't see how we can avoid going." I shrugged my shoulders and waited for Malfoy's reply.

"It's being bombed," he stated coldly.

"Isn't that the point?" I asked, feeling annoyed and disappointed. I had hoped that maybe he’d reached the same conclusions as I. The school in Baghdad was in danger and we couldn't really help them by dissecting their defences from a distance. They needed help now.

"We'll never get permission," Malfoy hedged.

"I'll get permission," I said. "Look, if you don't want to go, I'll find someone else."

"No way," Malfoy bristled. “This is just as much my project as yours." He actually thumped his fist on the desk. A clerk pushing a mail trolley past the cubicle glanced at us curiously. I stood and straightened my robes.

"I'll go arrange it with Harry," I said coolly. "How soon can you be ready to leave?"

To my amazement he flushed a deep red. It traveled across his pale cheeks and down his throat like a dark stain.

"Whenever you're ready," he said stiffly. He looked back down at the box before him and cautiously flicked open the lid. He stared at the contents in shock.

"Happy Birthday, Malfoy," I said and then made my escape. 

 

June 9, 2003: Baghdad, Iraq

"I never thought I could ever be this hot in my life," I sighed as I wiped the sweat from my neck with the corner of my headscarf. Our portkey had landed us in a locked janitor's closet in the Baghdad airport. We had quickly transfigured our robes into appropriate garments and were now outside waiting for the arrival of our contact from the school.

Even in the shade the morning temperatures hovered near 40 c. Soldiers with automatic weapons stood around us in a sort of relaxed alertness and I marvelled that they could bear the heat in all that gear.

"You're the one who insisted we come, Granger." Malfoy had the gleeful tone of one just barely repressing an "I told you so."

"If a bomb drops on us Malfoy, I'll put a public apology in the Daily Prophet."

He had been the one grumping about every little detail as we hastily planned our trip, and had even tried to put it off for another week.

However, now that we had arrived his whole demeanour had changed. He was surveying the military-controlled chaos with a kind of superior satisfaction. Sweat gleamed on his brow, but he still managed to look icy in his dark clothes with his shining hair. I nervously smoothed my headscarf again.

"You look fine," he said lowly. I glanced sharply at him but he was staring up the street, shading his eyes as a battered Jeep came into view. It was held for a surprisingly short moment by two soldiers, and then proceeded to pull forward to stop in front of us. A tall, thin figure emerged and approached us.

"Ms. Granger?" The man was dark haired with smooth tan skin. He had a hooked nose and graceful movements. He made me think suddenly of a young Severus Snape. That is, if Snape had ever been unbelievably charming with a flashing white smile. I wondered if Malfoy noticed the similarity.

"Yes," I confirmed, unsure whether or not it was appropriate to offer my hand. He extended his to me and I shook it gratefully.

"I'm Sami Naasan. I don't know if you remember me, but I met you once in Oxford." His English was heavily accented but clipped and flawless.

"I'm sorry," I said shaking my head with a smile, "you seem very memorable."

"No matter," he grinned, obviously pleased anyway.

"This is my, er, colleague Draco Malfoy," I said awkwardly. Malfoy extended his hand politely but didn't say anything.

"Welcome," Sami said graciously. “Have you any bags?" He opened the front passenger's door and indicated that I should take the seat.

"No. We packed light."

I hesitated, glancing at Malfoy who was climbing sullenly into the back of the Jeep. I took the front seat and Sami hurried around to get in.

"There are many checkpoints," Sami said conversationally as he twiddled the steering wheel to guide us easily through the snarled traffic. "They put up a new statue in the square last week and there have been many demonstrations. The Americans say they have won a battle, but for us it is just beginning."

"Why can't we apparate to the school?" Draco asked shortly as he was flung against the car door by a particularly wild turn of the wheel.

"It is not so safe to walk very close by the school and one cannot apparate in and out of the grounds," Sami explained.

I was stunned by the ancient beauty of the city as we drove through. I had expected bomb craters and smoke. These houses and gardens we passed looked dusty, but whole and warm. Balconies overflowed with flowers, making me think of the legendary Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

"I've always wanted to see the Tigris," I said to no one in particular.

"It is very sad and empty right now," Sami said seriously. "I mean to say, the traffic has been cut off for security, so there is no singing and talking on the river. "

We drove on in silence until Sami pulled the Jeep down a narrow alley.

"I will put the truck into the garage and then we will walk to the school." 

Draco and I stood in the shadowed lane while Sami put the Jeep away. I felt for my wand in my robes and made sure it was easy to access, and I could feel Draco doing the same next to me. It was strangely reassuring.

Sami led us quietly down one street and then we turned onto a narrow path and suddenly the great Tigris was before us. It was wide and calm and brown. Sami continued down the path past open courtyards and crowded houses on the right and endless flights of stone stairs down to the water on the left.

"Here we are," Sami said proudly. He paused before a decrepit looking archway that seemed to lead to an overgrown garden. But, as we passed through it, the archway gleamed with magically revealed Arabic script and the garden transformed into an orderly courtyard. A tiled fountain stood empty in the center of the walled square and the fragrance from the riot of flowers permeated the air.

"It's beautiful," I said honestly.

"I will show you to your rooms for some tea and a rest," Sami said in his pleased tone. "It will be very hot soon but I will call you later for supper where you will meet everyone. They are all in class now."

"What do you teach?" I asked as we walked.

"Potions and English," Sami replied.

"Oh!" I glanced at Malfoy but he hadn't seemed to hear.

Though nowhere near as bafflingly enormous as Hogwarts, the school was obviously much larger than it appeared from the outside. We navigated three long hallways and a wide set of stairs to reach our two rooms.

I fell gratefully onto my narrow bed and pulled off my sweaty headscarf. Through my open window I could hear the murmur of a class being held on the floor below and the familiar cadence of it soothed me almost instantly to sleep.

 

"We've been here for over a week and are still no closer to a solution!" Draco's frustrated voice was carrying in the nearly empty library. I understood his feeling but thought him very tactless to say it out loud.

"Did you think that we, so wise and experienced, would swoop in and Sherlock it out in a day, when the staff who have been here for years haven't solved it in two months?" I rubbed a hand across my neck and tried to summon a withering glare.

"What's that?" Draco asked uncomfortably.

"What's what?"

"A Sherlockit.”

I stared at him in disbelief. He sat stonily, waiting.

"Sherlock Holmes?"

Nothing.

"Sherlock Holmes. THE greatest detective of ALL TIME?"

"Never heard of him," Draco sneered.

I dropped my head into my hands and pretended to weep.

"Is everything alright?" Sami's pleasant voice drifted in along with the welcome aroma of the strong tea he carried on a tray. I cleared our table quickly of books, and moved my bag off of the chair next to me so that Sami could join us as he did most afternoons.

"Yes," I chuckled as he set the tray down, "Malfoy just doesn't know who..." I looked across the library table in amusement. Draco's white face bore the stony resignation of one who had been struck many times in the past and could see a fresh blow descending. My words caught in my throat.

"Draco...doesn't want to let you all down," I amended lamely. I looked quickly up at Sami with a bright smile and patted the seat next to me. He sank down with a sigh.

"It is a very perplexing mystery," Sami agreed. "I have shown you all the usual enchantments, but the magic of the school has always flowed so freely, but now it is like a great hand is squeezing the magic away."

"Hogwarts was like that too," I mused. "There were times that it felt like the school was on your side--helping you even. It could point you in the right direction sometimes." I thought of the moving staircases and the Room of Requirement; the portraits and the hidden passages. The Baghdad school didn't have that same feeling of flowing magic.

"Wait."

I stood up and leaned across towards Malfoy, an idea flashing across my brain. I pointed at his stack of books. 

"Flowing, Malfoy," I said excitedly. He met my eyes in startled understanding and pulled a book out of his pile. He made to hand it to me but I shook my head.

"No, you translate much better than me," I chattered ungrammatically, sitting back down. He allowed himself the tiniest of smirks and flipped through the pages.

"Although the Mongols have torn the tapestries and burned the mosques," he read slowly, "we continue in safety and have sheltered many of our magic-less brothers." He paused and his brow furrowed in concentration.

I nearly bounced out of my seat in anticipation and couldn't stop my hands from wringing. I pulled my hair over my shoulder anxiously.

"As long as our well of magic flows, we will protect our neighbours with our last breath." He looked up at me triumphantly.

"We assumed it was poetic, but..."

"What if it's a real well?" His grey eyes danced as I nodded eagerly in concurrence.

"Sami," I said, turning to him, "how long has the fountain in the courtyard been dry?"

He sat up very straight in his chair but then his eyes crinkled in confusion.

"Several years," he shook his head. "It ran when I was here as a child, but there was a very big sandstorm when I was in England and it has been dry ever since. Long before April when our enchantments began to falter." He looked downcast but I was undeterred. I turned back to Draco.

"What if the fountain was blocked up by the sandstorm but the school never really missed its magic until the threat of danger became so intense?" He was nodding now too and was reading on from the passage he had translated.

"There's nothing concrete here," he said, standing, "but it's worth a shot."

I rose eagerly as well.

"Magic flows through many things. Wood, stone, people. And water makes the most sense of anything. Let's go look!" We bolted from the library like Madam Pince was on our tail, leaving a bewildered Sami to jog along behind us.

The afternoon sun blazed down on the courtyard making the red flag stone radiate its heat. The silent fountain looked so forlorn and innocuously ornamental that my confidence faltered for a moment. Malfoy hurried over to it and knelt on the dusty ground at its base.

"We are idiots.” He looked up at me with a grin. “This inscription practically translates to 'fountain of magic.'"

I grinned back.

"So now all we need is a magical clog-buster or something."

We looked at each other and I could feel my own blank expression mirroring his. This was not something I'd ever read about in any book.

"Maybe it's in Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests," I suggested.

Malfoy stared at me for a moment and then burst out in a loud guffaw of real laughter.

"Did you bring your copy?" He snorted.

I stared at him. He had a nice sort of laugh and I wasn't sure if I'd ever genuinely heard it before.

"No."

"Then we'll have to figure out something else.” He was still chuckling to himself as he stood and dusted off his trouser knees.

"So the problem is that any spell or charm we can think up is as likely to damage the fountain itself as it is to clear the blockage.” I let my hands gesture as I spoke, trying not to raise my tone as I often did when excited.

Sami translated smoothly to the headmistress who sat behind her desk with her fingers steepled thoughtfully. She motioned to me, then Malfoy, and asked Sami a brief question.

"She suggests a potion," Sami told us. I looked at Malfoy and he nodded in confirmation.

"Yes, but neither of us brought potions books or any ingredients," I said.

"No matter," Sami smiled his usual flashing white grin. “I will brew it with your assistance. I already have some ideas."

He repeated this to the headmistress who also nodded. She then rose and spoke briefly again to Sami. We all stood and she nodded us out of her office.

"She is very busy," Sami said apologetically, "but she is very very grateful for your assistance. Shall we start right now?"

Something about brewing always set me a little on edge. I could never decide if it was the association with Snape's harsh classroom environment or even worse, my own disastrous polyjuiced cat incident, but I was perfectly content to chop and measure ingredients while Sami and Malfoy argued and scribbled notes with charcoal pencils on a big white wall.

"We think the pipes are copper, so the salt element could cause more damage," Malfoy huffed.

Sami stood his own ground on most points and they finally decided on three different recipes to try. I stirred one cauldron rhythmically while they argued over the second. The third we would start the next day if neither of the first two worked.

"I'm going to bed," I finally said close to midnight. My arms and feet ached and my hair was plastered to my neck in sweaty tendrils. The pungent tang of vinegar was making my eyes water as I headed for the door.

"I will walk you up," Sami said quickly. He spoke a stasis charm over each cauldron and hurried to join me.

I looked back at Malfoy. He had his wand in his hand poised over the supply drawer and I was surprised at his stormy expression. He looked exhausted but made no move to follow us.

"Goodnight," I said. He narrowed his eyes and didn't reply.

 

"I really hope this works," I mumbled the next morning as we ladled our two concoctions into bottles. One was almost totally clear and the other, which smelled vile, was a sludgy green.

"I still think we should send it up from the river intake," Malfoy was growling. “The pipe is wider there and that is the direction the water normally flows."

"You may try that with yours," Sami said stubbornly. He collected the clear bottles and made his way towards the courtyard.

"You don't have to be so grouchy," I snapped as soon as Sami was out of earshot. “We are all on the same team Malfoy."

"Right," he snarled, his lip curling. I stepped back from him in disappointed surprise. I spun on my heel and followed Sami down the hall.

Quite a crowd had gathered around the fountain. The oldest students were there, murmuring excitedly, and the professors stood in silent anticipation. I had a sudden memory of a school project in my youth involving a papier mache volcano, baking soda, and vinegar. As far as I recalled, that experiment had turned out alright, though people's lives had little depended on its success.

Sami spoke to the headmistress and then proceeded to pour one bottle of his potion down the top of the fountain and the other down the drain spout.

We waited with bated breath. I could feel Draco step up behind me and I heard the clink of his potion bottles.

Nothing happened for some moments, and then a very faint rumbling started to come from the fountain. The ground of the courtyard began to tremble, sending little puffs of dust up from the cracks.

A hiss issued from the fountain, and then a burst of glittering sand spewed out, showering us all. We ducked and a few people shrieked, but I looked quickly back at the fountain. Aside from the sand shower, nothing appeared to have changed. Certainly no magical flow, let alone water was forthcoming.

"Guess we'll have to try mine now," Malfoy said icily into my ear.

The crowd was muttering dejectedly as I followed Malfoy to the gate.

"I'd better do a disillusionment on you in case someone is watching," I said before we passed through the archway. I flicked the charm over him and he became a shimmery outline.

"You lean over the edge and pretend to admire the river in case I need help.” Malfoy's voice was steady, but it was a bizarre feeling to talk to someone who could see me when I couldn't fully see him.

"Okay."

I jumped as a robe appeared out of thin air and was tossed over the rail. I leaned across it and watched as Malfoy splashed down into the brown water.

The intake pipe was barely visible from above and I knew he would have to duck under the water to feed his potion into it. I could see the ripples and bubbles as he worked and it gave me a very strange sensation.

"Okay," I heard him gasp a few minutes later as he surfaced.

"Apparate up," I said.

Silence.

"Draco?"

"I left my wand in my robes," he answered curtly.

"Oh really," I teased, patting his pockets and finding the wand. “Trusted me with it? Want me to drop it to you?"

"No!"

"Just swim that little way down to those stairs and I'll meet you with your robes," I smirked.

I could see his wet footprints coming up the stone steps although they dried almost instantly in the heat. I held out his wand to him and he shocked me by removing his disillusionment before taking his robes.

He wore dripping black trousers but no shirt. Harsh silvered scars zigzagged across his torso and I couldn't stop myself from staring. The dark mark, faded but still obvious on his left arm, didn't cause me to bat an eye, but those scars did.

He snatched up his robes and turned away to put them on. I looked out over the Tigris, thinking about what the scars meant.

Once he was clothed we walked slowly back toward the gate.

"Granger," he said suddenly. I turned to look at him. He looked angry. Angrier than I'd seen him look in a long time.

"Don't you dare pity me," he spat. I didn't reply because I didn't pity him.

"I deserved what I got," he said. "I would've killed Potter in that bathroom."

"I know," I said simply.

We reached the gate and I stopped. I didn't look at him again, unsure that my words would be helpful, but for some reason he had let me see those scars.

And holding my tongue had never been my strong point.

"Harry knew that too, but he was still sorry for what he did."

I paused then added, "we all have things we're sorry for."

I didn't wait for him to speak but walked quickly under the archway into the courtyard.

Even without seeing the celebrating crowd or the splatters of green gunk across the red stone ground or hearing the melody of the clear water splashing in the tiled fountain, our success would have been obvious from the vibrant feel of pulsing magic that now enveloped the school. It was as though a heartbeat had been started once again and the building's foundational enchantments had come back to life.

"You have done it!" Sami rushed over and grasped my hand warmly. His eyes were shining with relief and exhilaration. I grinned back up at him and pumped his hand in congratulations.

"I'm so glad," I said sincerely, "and it was truly a group effort, wasn't it? Your school can be so proud of you."

He beamed down at me and put his other hand on my elbow. I felt a little thrill at his nearness but took a cautious step back, still smiling.

"Malfoy really finished it off though, didn't he?" I said, turning as Draco stalked up to us. I tried to keep my voice light, but it was difficult as I was keenly conscious of the weight of the words we had just shared outside, as well as Sami's strong hand still gripping mine.

"Yes, well, at... school I did always keep you on your toes in potions, so you shouldn't sound so surprised," he said, the arrogance in his tone balanced by the careful level of teasing we had reached over the last month. His mask was safely back in place.

I sighed silently in relief as Malfoy extended his hand to Sami, requiring him to release me without any more awkwardness on my part.

"It was a pleasure to work with you Naasan, and I think we can probably be off now."

Pure Malfoy. Politely, snobbishly commanding.

Sami was not to be outdone, however. Ignoring Malfoy completely he turned and took my elbow again.

"But you must stay for the celebration feast. It will be in your honour and the headmistress will insist. Besides that, your portkey will not leave again until tomorrow morning." He steered me over to the headmistress who looked, understandably, happier than I had seen her all week. Malfoy did not follow.

Standing at the window in the early morning coolness I shut my eyes as I listened to the first call to prayer echoing over Baghdad. How strange it felt to be here at this school--so foreign and yet so familiar.

Last night at the feast the headmistress had spoken anxiously to me about the need to add another woman to their staff. They were losing female students every year, and she hoped that by adding more diversity to their teaching staff the families would feel more comfortable about sending their girls again despite the societal pressures.

It was so tempting. A cause I could believe in and a position with a lot to offer, and it was nice to be needed. Flattering, even, to be wanted. I thought of Sami's interesting conversation and admiring glances as he translated for me, and of our Oxford connection. I thought of the history and beauty and danger of the city.

I thought of Malfoy glaring at me along the table from his seat next to the ancient, surly Arabic's professor who kept gesturing wildly with his hands as he talked.

"What did you tell them?"

I turned to see Malfoy leaning casually in my open doorway. His small traveling case sat at his feet. I didn't wonder that he knew my thoughts.

"I have a lot to consider." I turned away. 

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes. I'd like to see the mosque Sami told us about before we leave Baghdad.” I reached out and closed the shutters as I spoke.

"Naasan said it is a dangerous area," Malfoy drawled derisively. I met his eyes to see a flicker of amused challenge there.

"I'm not too afraid," I said, "we'll be together." 

"So he's coming with us?" Malfoy scowled.

"Your face will stick that way if you keep that up," I snapped as I gathered my headscarf and hip bag from my bed. I brushed past him roughly in irritation. "I meant you and I."

The turquoise-topped Haydar-Khana mosque gleamed in the morning sun. We had stopped earlier for tea and then had admired the varied architecture of the city. It had been a long walk from the schoolyard, but the morning had remained mercifully cool. Despite Sami's nervous warnings when we left, the city seemed relatively calm with a subdued bustle of life as usual.

I glanced at my watch. We had just under an hour until our portkey and could easily apparate directly into the janitor's closet, now that we knew the destination. I thought of the copper bazaar and the great libraries and museums of the city, but there simply wasn't time to do anything more.

A military convoy rumbled by down Rashid Street and Malfoy and I pressed against a warm stone building as the crowds around us surged out of the way. I could see British and American soldiers in one Humvee and I glanced at Malfoy with a sudden feeling of impending danger.

As the crowd eased back into the street, I instinctively moved nearer him so that I could speak without raising my voice. He startled me by grabbing my wrist roughly and tugging me along the pavings. I looked over my shoulder where his alarmed eyes had shot to see a mob of black-masked men only fifty yards away. They pumped semi-automatics in the air and were waving a burning American flag.

The _pop pop pop_ of their weapons seemed so quiet and far away in a surreal blur, but then the screams of the crowd reached my ears and I whipped my wand out of my sleeve and tried to spin towards them.

"No!" Malfoy yanked my arm insistently. "We have to get to our portkey. The soldiers are here."

His face was shining with sweat, and my arm ached where he clenched it. I whirled away from him angrily but knew he was right.

"Here," I stepped down an alley where people were scurrying to escape the gunfire. They were paying us no attention but it didn't really matter anyway. I put out my hand and Malfoy took it firmly. We apparated with that horrible sucking sensation, out of the brilliant summer sun, into the blackness of the locked closet.

"Shite, shite, shite," Malfoy swore as he tangled with an empty bucket and mop. I could hear him panting heavily in the dark but my eyes hadn't adjusted yet. I gasped for my own breath and steadied myself against the wall.

"It was like that Quidditch World Cup," I blurted. "The fire, and the screaming, and the masks."

"That's what terrorism is," Malfoy shot. “Cowards using fear to intimidate innocent people."

I didn't think to ask if he was okay. Neither of us was okay.

We waited in silence until our portkey began to glow.

 

 

July 4, 2003: London

 

"Did you finish your piece on the Lisbon library?" I peeked my head into Malfoy's cubicle to see him with his feet up, a paperback in his hand. He snapped his book shut and flipped it over on his desk so I couldn't read the cover. He leaned further back in his chair nonchalantly and pushed his fringe back off of his forehead with supreme unconcern.

I tapped my foot impatiently and he grinned.

"I have to get that report turned in before I leave, Malfoy," I looked pointedly at my watch. "I have plans tonight."

"Oh yes?" He faked a surprised expression, "Friday night plans? You really do need to get going then. It must take hours to untangle that disaster you call hair."

I glared at him and forced myself to keep calm. My hair had become a bit more manageable over the years, but it never looked its best at the end of a stressful work week, and every week working with Malfoy was stressful.

"Your report?" I said wearily. I plucked the long pin from my bun and pulled the mane of curls over my left shoulder. It felt heavenly.

He snapped open a drawer and pulled out a neatly written report. He didn't look at me but shoved it silently across the desk. I snatched it up and glanced over it quickly. I knew it would be precise and detailed and I could attach it to my report without any concern.

"Thank you," I said and tucked it into the folder with my own sheets of parchment. "I'll go hand this in now and be off. Have a good weekend."

"Aren't you going to review it?" He asked forcefully as I moved to leave. I turned back to him in surprise. He flushed and slammed his feet onto the floor with a bang.

"Do I need to?"

"No."

"Okay." I paused. That crack about my hair had been low. I indicated the book he had been reading when I came in.

" _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ is good, but you should try the _Hound of the Baskervilles_ next," I quipped, "it's my favourite."

Then I couldn't resist a parting shot.

"Goodnight, Watson."


	3. Lord, What Fools

August 7, 2003

"I'm headed up to Oxford in the morning," I told Malfoy as we sipped our afternoon tea in my office. The stacks of Greek text spread across my desk were copies of copies from the BL, otherwise tea over work texts would have been strictly forbidden.

We were both feeling the pressure from the Greeks to come up with answers and I didn't like it. The sense of entitled expectation, just because we had agreed to work on their "Unidentifiable Ancient Artefacts" project, irked me. It was pure politics and finger-pointing. They had one answer in mind and wanted a specific outcome regardless of the truths we uncovered.

"I thought you wanted to get this finished this week," Malfoy accused.

"Yes," I said impatiently. "I'd rather avoid the seemingly inevitable trip to Athens."

"Why?" Malfoy leaned his chair back easily on two legs. I hated when he did that. "Greece is beautiful, the food is great, and the women, phew, the women are stunning. Even you might be able to unwind a little there."He looked doubtful.

"I want to go to Greece someday on holiday," I snapped, "certainly not for work with you."

He thumped his chair back down on all four legs and smirked at me triumphantly.

"So you're headed up for a little Oxford weekend instead."

He managed to make "Oxford" sound like "Las Vegas."

"Yes," I said evenly. "I'm meeting a friend and we are going to look through the Greek section in the Bodleian."

His smug expression turned stony.

"You're working on this project without me?"

"I'm staying with my friend. She's not magic."

"This is our project. Mine as much as yours!"

"I'm taking the train," I could feel my blood pressure rising, "and you hate Oxford. Surely you can work on your own for ONE DAY?"

"That's not the point!" He stood up angrily but seemed to recall himself. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on me for your precious Potter?" His sneer was a masterpiece.

"I told Ron I'd take him for an ice cream if he watches you for me tomorrow."

I don't know what made me say It. I could see Malfoy expanding with fury. He slammed his hand down on the desk, hitting his spoon which clipped the edge of his saucer. His cup of tea flipped up, sending an arc of amber liquid into the air. We watched, as if in slow motion, as Malfoy stretched out his hand and caught the teacup as it hurtled towards the wall and imminent doom. He cradled it gently in his palm as the tea sort of splashed back into the cup.

I stared at him in amazement. He looked as shocked as I felt. He set the cup back carefully on its saucer and sat down haughtily in his chair.

"Seeker's reflexes," he sniffed.

"Too bad you couldn't do that with the snitch," I said. Did I suddenly have a death wish?

He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time.

"What if I find my own place to stay?"

"We're still taking the train. 9:22 from Paddington."

He snorted and looked down to cover his smile.

~•~ ~•~ ~•~

"I don't understand why you love trains so much," Malfoy groused. “It's so boring."

"We've only been on fifteen minutes," I sighed. "Didn't you bring a book or something?"

"No. I thought you'd change your mind and we'd apparate."

"Do you exist expressly to annoy me?"

"It's beginning to feel like it, isn't it?"

I growled and huffily zipped my bag open. I pulled out a battered paperback and touched the cover lovingly.

"Since you are acting like a child, here is a children's book. You should be able to finish it before the two hours." I slapped it on the seat next to him. "If anything happens to that copy, I will end you." I warned.

He picked it up gingerly by the corner as though it was contaminated.

" _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ ," he read with a sneer. "I hate lions."

"You'll especially hate this lion," I said cheerfully, "so that will give you something nice and new to complain about once you've finished it."

 

My friend Helene met us at Oxford station

"I didn't realise your colleague would be so handsome and so male," she said boldly as she kissed my cheek in welcome.

"Watch it," I hissed in her ear. Brilliant Helene liked to use what I called her "Frenchness" as an excuse to get away with whatever she wanted. Combined with her willowy blonde presence, she made a formidable opponent and a handy friend. She could up the ante on her accent to get us into any party and I had seen her talk her way out of two separate parking tickets.

"Helene, this is Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, Helene Rayburn."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Malfoy." She extended a graceful hand to him but winked at me saucily. "I hope you do not mind sharing a room. There are two single beds."

"No," I said loudly. "I mean, Malfoy's booked a room at the Randolph."

"Ah, well," she sighed, not waiting for him to speak. "That is very very nice. And directly across from the Ashmolean, where we will go to see the special exhibit tomorrow. You do not mind walking?" She linked her arm through mine, leaving Malfoy to follow behind us, now superfluous to her one sided stream of conversation

"Perhaps my husband will be happier that there is not such a good-looking man in the house while he is away,” Helene added. Despite her flirtatious manner I knew that she was extremely devoted to her quiet, very professorial husband. "He is away again to speak to those idiots in London about his research. They do not understand one word, but he must make them feel intelligent with his speeches so that they will continue his funding. It is very important work you know."

I did know for I had heard this same tale many times before. I quickly cut into her flow when she paused for a breath.

"We don't have much time, so perhaps we should head straight to the library? You don't need to come with us if you're busy today. We have an arrangement to meet the librarian some time this afternoon. She didn't mind when."

"Surely you will want lunch first?" She asked, looking a little relieved. Hours hunched over work in the stacks were not her favourite memories of her own student years.

"Malfoy?"

He shrugged in a bored manner.

"I'll eat whenever."

"Excellent," Helene took this as agreement with her.

After a light lunch Helene left us in front of the Bodleian, but not before extracting a promise that we would meet there for dinner later.

"After all," she said loudly with a dismissive gesture to the crowds around us, "the tourists should be gone back to London with their shopping by then and we will find a very good place."She ignored the glares shot her way and tripped off lightly down the street with a cheery "À bientôt."

After six hours down in the sterile basement of the Bodleian with hardly a break, Malfoy and I both agreed that we had probably gotten as much out of the visit as we could. The Greeks would just have to take our report and if they didn't like it, well, they could just lump it. We had checked and cross-checked our sources thoroughly and they had very little legal precedent for an action based on their own murky and slightly underhanded history in the trading of ancient artefacts.

"I think it comes down to that old saying," I rubbed my neck tiredly.

"Possession is nine tenths of the law?" Malfoy smirked at my frown.

"Quit reading my mind," I grumped without rancour. "That and, 'you reap what you sow.' If they weren't so shifty about laws and the trading of magical beasts, then they might have more to stand on regarding provenance of magical artefacts."

"Yes," Malfoy stood and stretched. He seemed to go on forever. He really was tall. His blonde head nearly bumped the low ceiling. I stood and stretched as well.

"The porter will replace our books," I told him. "Let's go meet Helene."

We packed up our notes and navigated the labyrinthine hallways to emerge in the evening sunshine. As Helene had predicted, the street was indeed much emptier of tourists. She was to meet us in ten minutes.

Malfoy leaned against a wrought iron fence that had at least a hundred bicycles chained along it. 

"Oxford's not like I expected," he said suddenly.

I stared at him in amazement.

"You are always going on about how much you hate it!" I gaped, feeling an indignant rush of blood to my cheeks. "You mean to say, you've never been here? How can you hate it then?"

"Why does anyone hate anything?"

"You are the most absolute..."

"Here I am," Helene bounced into view, "I am even early! Are you not very proud of me? How was your stuffy research?"

"Good," I said, internally checking myself. "We verified a lot of our initial findings..."

"Very very good," Helene beamed. "I have gotten us a table at your favourite restaurant, which should be French, but I remember that it is Italian, which is very very good still." She took my arm affectionately. Apparently I was forgiven for preferring Italian to French cuisine.

"You two must be very hungry after all that time with those dusty books." She smiled indulgently at us.

I looked at Malfoy and he winked in conspiratorial amusement.

"Yes," he said. “Very."

~•~ ~•~ ~•~ 

By the time Helene and I had made our way past Balliol and turned onto Magdalen the next morning, the Broad Street was once again packed with tourists. It promised to be a very warm day and I was grateful that Helene had convinced me to put on the one cool dress that I had brought. It was a little old-fashioned, but classic and white and I felt nice despite the heat.

"I am absolutely boiling," Helene moaned as we waited to cross the road. "I don't know if I will be able to survive a morning in Ashmolean. You know how it can get very very hot in those little rooms."

"Don't you dare abandon me," I pinched her arm viciously as we walked. "This whole day was your idea. I'm not dragging Malfoy through the Ashmolean by myself."

Helene stopped short and pulled me around by the elbow just before we could turn left onto Beaumont. She placed a hand on her hip and waggled a finger in my face.

"Don't you try to play those games with me, mòn ami," she snapped. "You must see that this Malfoy is very much in love with you."

I snorted and slapped her hand away.

"Don't be..."

"Ridiculous?" She supplied. Her eyebrow arched and she pretended to think very hard for a moment.

"I was watching you two at dinner last night and decided."

"Helene..."

"Let's see," she said, ignoring my glare. "Why would a man spend a weekend in Oxford doing dusty old research and THEN agree to stay by himself in a boring old hotel if he was not very much in love?"

"It's not..."

"And he could have taken the train back down this morning since you are done with your research, but he is staying to go to a museum to impress you."

"Helene..."

"AND," she talked right over me, "he is good looking and obviously rich and knows how to dress and touches the ends of your hair when you can't see him."

Her grin was triumphant but I could feel a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach.

"You're completely wrong..." I began.

"Do you think yourself so unloveable?" She laughed and shook her head. "Or is he with someone else?"

"No," I glared. "At least...no, I don't think so." We never discussed our personal lives despite the amount of time we spent together each day.Whatever she thought she saw at dinner was obviously a Slytherin ploy to throw her off her guard.

Helene was still laughing.

"It's not funny Helene. There's history."

She quirked an eyebrow again and I could feel tears of frustration and an unwelcome confusion stinging behind my eyes. She took my hands in alarm.

"Oh my darling.”

"Bad history," I went on, "and worse..."

"Yes?"

"He's a conceited ass."

She laughed again.

"I think you may be right there," she chuckled. "I am sorry if I've made you unhappy," she kissed my cheek. "I will go into the Ashmolean with you, but you will buy me a very nice drink after."

"That's a deal," I smiled.

Malfoy was standing reading in front of the steps to the museum. He could have passed for a dashing student or a young don in his stylish grey slacks and white shirt, looking cool and unruffled by the heat. He glanced up from his book as we rounded the corner and my heart lurched for a moment as his eyes widened and skimmed over my dress and bare legs down to my sandals. He straightened and tucked his book into his back pocket.

"Ladies," he nodded to us and shook out the jacket that he had lain over the open gate. "You were so long in coming that I was recruited into the Oxford Shakespeare Company as I waited."

"Surely not," Helene laughed, but Malfoy preened haughtily and held out a slick leaflet that read "A Midsummer Night's Dream Open Auditions."

"I bet they wanted you for Bottom," I said innocently.

Helene snorted in very un-ladylike laughter at Malfoy's annoyed confusion.

~•~ ~•~ ~•~

We managed a very pleasant Saturday despite the heat. After the Ashmolean we sat in the shade around the fountain in the Botanical Garden eating lunch and listening to Helene's dramatic accounts of her husband's adventures in teaching. Sunday morning found me and Malfoy on the, thankfully, air conditioned train back to London. He had returned my copy of _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ , and I could see that he now had his own copy of _Prince Caspian_ tucked in his case.

"What did you think of the Tibetan exhibit yesterday?" I asked as the train pulled away from Oxford station.

"Beautiful, but it was bloody hot in there.” Malfoy crossed one ankle over his knee. "You should have let me do a cooling charm."

"I suppose the risk of accident to millions of pounds worth of art and history would have been worth it to keep you cool," my exasperated sigh came across with a little more vehemence than I had intended.

"Anyway," I straightened, immediately contrite. "While I was sorry that they'd finished the China exhibit, I'd love to go to China, the Turners will always be my favourite."

"Ships and clouds," Malfoy snorted as he pulled out his book.

"You're on _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_ already?” I remarked in surprise.

"I'm a quick reader Granger," he sneered, "and as you said, they are only children's books."

"How are you finding Eustace?" I asked mildly. "Relatable at all?"

"He gets to be turned into a dragon," Malfoy said shortly. "Who wouldn't like that?"

"As a punishment, Draco," I laughed. He shrugged and smiled smugly.

"What do you have there?" Malfoy pointed to the parchment on my knee. I shifted on my seat.

"A letter from the Baghdad school," I said, smoothing it out.

"Oh?" He managed to turn the syllable into a commentary of derision.

"They have had no issues with their protective enchantments and are looking forward to the new term, although they still have one position to fill," I said conversationally.

"Really," Malfoy returned his eyes to his book. I began to slowly compose my reply letter in my notebook so that I could copy it onto parchment later.

"If they're so desperate as to want you, the school's probably as worthless as I thought.” His cold voice cut.

So much for the worry that Helene had placed on me outside the Ashmolean.

"Thanks."

 

 


	4. An Ever-Fixed Mark

 

September 1, 2003:

Xinjiang, China

It had been a long time since I had felt so conspicuously out of place. The dirty rural train station bustled with passengers and their menagerie of goats, chickens, even a squealing pig, not to mention the clamouring children with their miscellany of excess clothes stripped in the stifling heat. The scene could have matched the wildest September first on platform 9 3/4 except that this platform was backdropped by a tall range of snowy mountains and baked in the afternoon sun. The chatter of an unfamiliar Chinese dialect filled my ears instead of the various British accents I remembered calling out at King's Cross as friend recognised friend.

Dozens of curious gazes examined me without suspicion but I certainly stood out in my crisp yellow dress that had felt so perfectly casual in crowded Beijing.

A small child, not older than four, stopped to stare up at me. Its bowl cut of shiny black hair and dirty grey clothes made guessing a gender beyond me at first.

"Hello," I said politely. I noticed a pink plastic bracelet on the child's wrist. Girl then?She pointed up at me in inquiry.I touched the tangle of curls that I had let down to shade my neck from the beating sun.

She chattered excitedly and kept pointing. I crouched down and held out my unruly mane for her inspection. She leaned comfortably against my knee and stroked a hand across my hair in a surprisingly gentle manner for so young a child. I felt like an exotic cat and returned her smile warmly.

"Granger. Granger!" I heard Malfoy's distinctly English voice over the crowd—highly irritated, verging on panicked.

"Dammit, Hermione!" Panic creeping in more.

I carefully disentangled myself from the little girl and straightened. Malfoy was mere feet from me but facing away. A head and a half taller than anyone else on the platform, his hair gleamed in the sun like a golden beacon. With all his shouting he was attracting ten times the attention I had.

"Here I am."

He spun around and I could see real relief flash across his face followed swiftly by anger.

"I told you to stay right here," he spat. I raised an eyebrow and he seemed to realise how ridiculous he sounded. He didn't like sounding ridiculous and covered it with sarcasm.

"Making friends again?" He tried to turn it insulting, but the snark bubble was immediately punctured as my little girl, who had been gaping up at him, started chattering to him cheerfully, pulling his hand to bring him down to her level.

"How long is the train ride?" I asked. He resisted the child's tugs and extended my ticket to me with his free hand.

"Three hours. Give or take." We both knew a rural train in any country could be about as reliable as an expired spell-o-quill.

"I'd better use the loo then. Be back in a moment." I hid a smile at his grumpy expression and squeezed my way across the crowded platform.

The toilets were surprisingly clean and had actual locking doors. I splashed some water on my arms and face and refreshed my cooling charms. They could only do so much against the persistent grit and sticky heat. My face in the mirror looked flushed, and I could see several new freckles across my nose. I dug a wide-brimmed hat from my bag and tucked my hair across my shoulder. 

Good enough.

I returned to the platform to find Malfoy on a none too clean bench with my little girl standing on the seat next to him stroking his hair, and two little boys, probably seven or eight, hopping up and down in front of him as he flicked a golden snitch up in the air, snatching it back down before their entranced eyes. I sat on the bench next to him.

"You'll get us into trouble with that if you're not careful," I remarked casually. It was too hot to start an argument but I couldn't let the opportunity to scold him pass.

"They already think I have magic hair," Malfoy smirked, "so what's a little more magic going to hurt?"

"They're children," I pointed out. "They can't have seen many westerners out this way, so they'd not know that your hair is pretty average."

"Why you..." he muttered as he kept his eyes on the snitch "you bushy-haired harpy."

I smiled and leaned against the back of the bench.

 

The train's compartment was clean but small and stuffy. I placed my hat on the luggage rack and then sat next to the window across from an old man in a spotless black suit. He grinned easily at me and bobbed his head in greeting. I nodded back and settled comfortably on the worn plush cushions as the train began to chug out of the station.

Draco sauntered in and slung his rucksack next to my hat. He spoke a curt greeting to the man and indicated towards the window. The man gestured positively and Draco leaned across me and jerked the window down. A faint breeze slipped in, making the space a bit more bearable. I still reached up and unbuttoned the top button of my sweaty collar once Draco had turned away.

"If this damn heat keeps up I'll be burnt to a crisp," Malfoy huffed harmlessly. He slouched down next to me on the seat with a grunt. His long legs stretched across the width of the compartment and he pushed up the sleeves of his white oxford carefully. 

"Yes," I agreed, "it was supposed to be much cooler. I brought jackets and things, not summer clothes." I leaned back for a moment to stretch my neck before rolling my head to look at Malfoy. He was staring at my throat and I saw him gulp convulsively. I swept my hair over my left shoulder between us to cover my exposed neck and the sliver-thin scar there.

"Do you have any new ideas?" I asked hastily.

"Ideas?" Malfoy blinked at me in uncharacteristic slowness.

"Ideas about what we'll find? Our mission?" I rolled my eyes in exaggerated annoyance.

"Oh. Well, the werewolf angle's pretty obvious." He rubbed his right hand across his left forearm thoughtfully but he was looking over my head out the open window now.

"Yes, but it still doesn't fit. The accounts vary so wildly, and widely, and none of the more recent reports seem to be tied in any way to the lunar cycle." I dug a book out of my hip bag, keeping an eye on the muggle across from us to make sure he didn't notice the incongruity of my tiny bag producing such a monster. 

"More studying?" Malfoy smirked.

"No," I held up the hefty tome. "Shakespeare's collected works."

"Letting me do all the research heavy lifting this time then?" He raised an eyebrow.

I cracked my book onto my lap and flipped to my marked page. Something about China HAD dispelled my usually anxious mania to over prepare, and I felt a sort of languid optimism about this trip.

"I just think this is a case where we need to get firsthand accounts to figure out what's really going on.” I smoothed a hand across my page and began to read.

"The funniest thing," Draco mused, "is that nobody's actually died yet."

 

A hand was gently brushing the sweaty hair from my face. My mother, I was sure. But no--Mum is still in Australia. Not Ron either. Never quite that tender.

I stirred against the warm shoulder under my cheek and felt it tense.

"The bird’s-nest you call your hair is smothering me Granger."

I straightened to find that the light in the train compartment had shifted to an orangey glow and now slanted sharply in from the west. I glanced around the floor for my book since it no longer sat on my lap.

"This Othello's quite the piece of work," Draco's voice was falsely light. He held my book closed on his lap.

"What about Iago?" I asked with a yawn.

"More understandable."

"How so?" I chuckled and stood shakily to stretch. Draco looked away from me but I could see tension on his face despite his casual tone. 

"He'd already lost his chance. But Othello had everything. Everything there in his hand. At hand."

I could see his cheeks flush and I felt my way with extra care.

"Othello trusted the wrong friends instead of his heart."

"That's no excuse! He swore to..."

"Draco, it's fiction," I said sharply, suddenly alarmed at his heightened reaction. I glanced at the man still seated across from us. He had a well worn magazine in his hand but was clearly observing us with interest.

Malfoy noticed my glance and schooled his features into their usual calm mask. He tossed the book onto my vacated seat.

"We should be there in a few minutes. I'm starving."

Indeed, I could feel the train slowing gradually as he spoke. There was no announcement or squeal of the brakes, but our fellow passenger rose shakily from his seat as well, leaning heavily on a gnarled walking stick. He reached over his head for a battered black case on the rack above him. I tucked my book into my own bag while his back was turned.

To my surprise Draco stood and said something briefly to the man. He reached his long arm up and plucked the case down easily. He set it on the seat as the elderly man grinned and bobbed in thanks.

"I'm going to speak with the conductor. Wait for me on the platform?" Malfoy asked. His usual imperious tone was absent so I nodded, placed my hat on my tangle of hair, and followed the elderly man along the corridor. I helped him carefully down the narrow steps onto the empty platform.

No other passengers had disembarked with us but the train seemed to be pausing and taking on water. Malfoy was up at the front speaking to someone in the engine. I turned and surveyed the marvellous view from the platform. There was a little hut that looked like a ticket booth, and a small bench next to that, but behind these the range of snow-peaked mountains seemed to stretch unendingly to the west into the setting sun. To the south the green hills rolled into dusty desert as far as the eye could see, only interrupted by the snaking train tracks that had brought us to this remote spot.

A wide path meandered up from where I stood, paralleling the train tracks that continued north into the mountains. A group of low houses, orange in the dusky light, huddled against an imposingly rocky ridge about a quarter mile up the hill.

"American?" The old man next to me asked suddenly. I smiled and shook my head. I clamped my hat down as a light wind threatened to lift it away. Dust swirled up around us and I coughed before answering.

"English," I said. "I'm Hermione," I pointed to myself and then over to Malfoy. "He's Draco."

The man grinned in apparent understanding and nodded enthusiastically. He chattered something quickly in Uyghur and pointed with his walking stick towards the village.

I shrugged and shook my head again. My verbal translation charm was utterly failing with this dialect. I dug carefully in my bag and drew out a folded piece of parchment. I opened it to show the man the sketch of the wolf that we had heard was terrorising his village in a strange and sporadic fashion.

"Ah!" He exclaimed and pointed again, this time a little to the west of the village.

"Got the mystery all solved Granger?" Malfoy drawled as he joined us, shrugging on his rucksack.

"No," I said, "but he does seem to understand why we're here."

Malfoy spoke slowly to the man, gesturing between us and the village. The man spoke quickly back and indicated that we should follow him. He started walking up the track toward the village, not waiting to see if we were coming.

"Well," Malfoy said, "his name is Yusup and he thinks we are from a university and are here to study the wolves. He said we can stay with him and his wife like the last people did."

"Oh, how nice," I said gratefully. "I've done enough tent camping to last me a lifetime."

We'd walked along for a moment when his words fully struck me.

"Wait. Malfoy, did you say wolves? Plural?" I asked in alarm.

"Well, it sounded like wolves," he admitted, "but the translator's not perfect."

"Oh, isn't it?" I laughed. "I never thought I'd hear you say that!" He scowled but I could tell he wasn't really insulted.

"It will be great to stay with a family," I hurried on. "The villagers will probably be a lot more willing to speak to us in that case. And," I added, "if this wind picks up we'll be glad of a place to stay that's indoors."

We quickly reached the edge of the village since Yusup moved a lot more swiftly than had seemed possible. I counted sixteen long rectangular buildings. They lined a curve of dirt road that wound away to the west and disappeared around the ridge.

Our soon-to-be host called out as he led us to the first house on the edge of the village. A grey haired woman already stood in the open doorway waving a towel in greeting. She bobbed to me and Malfoy and then kissed her husband affectionately and without any of the embarrassed restraint I had noticed in other rural villages. We introduced ourselves by first names. She took my hat graciously, and then without hesitation she shooed us all through the door.

The house was dim inside but welcoming and spotlessly clean. A delicious savoury smell wafted from a pot on the open fire, and dried herbs hung from the low ceiling, permeating the main room with a lovely aroma.

"Oh," I sighed. Malfoy looked at me strangely and I could feel the heat of the room flushing my cheeks

"Well, it's a little unexpected, isn't it?" I said. He didn't answer but spoke politely to our hostess in the hesitant, clipped manner of his translation charm. She beamed at him in surprised pleasure and spoke quickly back.

Malfoy nodded and slowly turned to me, his cheeks now flaming to match mine, but deadpan he said, "she is very glad that we are married since they just have the one extra bedroom and it is very small."

"Wha-? Um, of course," I managed to recover as he raised his eyebrows quellingly. "It would be highly inappropriate for two unmarried people to share a room." I smiled and nodded to her gratefully.

She sat us at their small table and gave us a bowl and rag to wash our hands. She then gave us each a wide spoon and shallow dish into which she ladled a generous helping of the soup that had been cooking over the fire. It smelled divine and my stomach rumbled loudly in anticipation.

As the four of us ate companionably Malfoy asked simple questions and translated their answers to me in amusement.

My translation charm was beginning to pick up the basic words now and I could follow the conversation more easily.

"They say that the wolves have never come down into the village," Malfoy told me, "and they have never proven that any sheep have been lost to the wolves, although some farmers have claimed so."

"Have either of them actually seen a wolf?" I asked curiously. Malfoy translated.

"Only one time coming back from the market through the mountainpass. It chased them to the edge of the ridge but then disappeared."

I sipped my soup thoughtfully. Malfoy had been the one to bring this mystery to my attention. An acquaintance of his had returned from China and told him about the stories of the black wolf haunting this little village in northern Xinjiang. The acquaintance hadn't seen the wolf but had heard several tales of its existence during travels through the region. Then Malfoy had done a little digging on his own after we had wrapped up our Greek project, and had found varying accounts of recent wolf sightings, some benign, some terrifying.

"Who has seen more than one wolf at a time?" I asked.

"Several people, and only in the evenings. The wolves are very ferocious but have never hurt anyone."

"That's the crazy part!" I exclaimed. The couple looked at me in surprise and I apologised for raising my voice. The wife smiled and spoke gently.

"She thinks you look tired and will show us our room now," Malfoy smirked at me. I rolled my eyes but stood when he did. We could hear the wind whistling across the windows with more force now and I felt thankful again to not be outside in a tent.

She showed us to the door at one end of the house and handed me a worn wool blanket once we were through it. The bedroom was the width of the house but only about ten feet deep. A low bed was pushed against the back wall and a small oil lamp hung over it. She followed us in with a pitcher of water and set it on the only other piece of furniture which was a small wash stand in the corner. She showed us the door that led outside to a tiny hut with a basic toilet.

"Thank you so much," I took her wrinkled hand in both of mine warmly as she made to leave us. She patted my cheek in a motherly way and bobbed out of the room.

"Goodnight," I said. Malfoy echoed me as he shut the door.

"Look," I said in relief, "it's two small beds pushed together. We can move them apart and I can put my sleeping mat on one instead of the floor." I turned to see that he hadn't moved but was wearing a strange expression.

"Why did you tell them we were married?" He asked in a cold voice.

"Me!" I gasped, "I did no such thing! How could I? I thought you had so we wouldn't be kicked out!" I drew my wand from my thigh holster and saw Malfoy jump.

"Cool it," I hissed at him and flicked my wand at the door. "Muffliato."

"You must have said something on the platform," Malfoy growled, statue-still by the door.

"I'm sorry that the idea is so odious to you," I snapped as I spun away from him and began stripping the covers from the beds. "I know that the pretence must offend every pureblooded sensibility in your body, but I did not say that we were married and it would never have even occurred to me to lie about something like that and right now I would rather be out in a tent in that windstorm than be fake married to a snotty, stuck up, ungrateful snake like you, but here we are."

Fuming, I dragged one bed away from the other and tossed the big blanket at Malfoy. I summoned my own sleeping mat from the depths of my bag and spread it across my bed. I slammed my pillow down and followed that with the wool blanket. I pulled out my pyjamas and turned back to face him.

"Now," I seethed, "will you please turn your back for a moment so I can change?" Malfoy went from red to white in a flash. Then he sneered.

"You'd never undress with me in the room." He leaned back against the wall challengingly. I grimly locked my eyes on his and slowly reached up for my top button.

His eyes widened in alarm and he spun around with unflattering haste. I kicked off my ankle boots and quickly pulled on my sleeping shorts and then turned my back to him, just in case. I whipped my dress over my head and pulled on my sleep top as fast as possible. I hadn’t cleaned my teeth, but stopping to do that would ruin the whole effect of my snit. I crawled under the scratchy blanket with my back still to him.

"Okay," I said, shocked at my own behaviour. I could hear him unzipping his rucksack and rummaging around. I heard the soft phwump of clothes dropping to the floor and my face flamed with embarrassment.

"Snotty, stuck up snake," Malfoy chuckled. His bed creaked as he lay down. I rolled over to fish a book out of my bag. He was lying on his back, smirking at the ceiling.

"You forgot 'ungrateful,'" I reminded him.

 


	5. That Looks on Tempests

   My internal clock woke me early in the chilly morning hours. Weak grey light slanted in through the one small window above me.  I drew my wand from under my pillow and swung my legs out of bed. I had to stifle a gasp as my socked feet hit the icy floor. I glanced at Malfoy, still sleeping quietly. His bare arm was thrown over his head as he lay on his side in a surprisingly open position. I could see a little patch of drool on his pillow. Ha!

Grinning, I pulled on jeans and a jumper and slipped into my boots as quietly as possible.

The main room was warm and the fire had been recently stoked. I picked up the empty water pail from beside the door, recalling that we had passed a pump a dozen or so yards down the path.

The morning air felt crisp and clean. It was clear that the wind had been high because dusty sand piled against the sides of buildings and coated the leaves of the few scrubby trees that straggled up between the houses. I walked down to the pump and filled the pail. On the mountainside a man was leading a flock of sheep away from the village toward a greener patch on the next hill.

Back in the house the wife, Nur, met me with a steaming cup of dark tea. I pointed to the water then down the hill and mimed pumping into the bucket.

"Is that good?" I asked brokenly through my translator charm, hoping the words came out intelligibly

"Oh!" She exclaimed, delighted at my effort, "yes, that is a good well." She grinned as she took the pail and gave me the tea. It was strong and sweetened with plenty of honey.

"Mmmm," I smiled at her. No translation needed. She sat me at the table and placed a flap of bread with more honey and butter on a plate. She added a palmful of raisins to that. When she turned her back I performed a discrete _tergeo_ on the raisins, just to be safe.

"Men," she said fondly, pointing first to her bedroom door and then mine. She laid her head on her hands and gave a soft snore. I laughed and nodded.

 

"So, this house is the lady who saw the wolf first?" I asked as Nur led me and Malfoy down the road. It was mid-morning and already pleasantly warm.

She nodded and spoke rapidly. I glanced at Malfoy for a translation.

"This lady saw him over a year ago," he said.

"Did she really say 'him'?" I asked.

"Yes," he rolled his eyes expertly.

"It seems unusual that she would use a gender pronoun," I pointed out. "I wasn't trying to correct you. It could be important. We're trying to be specific here, aren't we?"

"Alright, alright!" He waved a dismissive hand at me.

"Here," Nur interrupted as we stopped in front of our destination. She called out a greeting through the open door. A cheerful reply issued from within, followed by the emergence of a round faced young woman holding a chubby baby.

Nur introduced us to the woman, Reyhan, who gestured for us to follow her inside.

The interior was almost identical to Nur and Yusup's home, but was not quite as spotless. The baby's cradle sat by the fire instead of two low chairs, and laundry hung from racks in the corner instead of the dried herbs that scented Nur's pristine kitchen.

Reyhan looked a bit weary but also mildly self important. She chattered rapidly to Nur, and I gathered that news of our arrival and purpose in the village was already common knowledge and she was thrilled that we had chosen to speak first to her. The four of us, plus the fussing baby, sat at her small table.

"Thank you for allowing us into your home," I spoke carefully. “We appreciate any information you can give us."

Malfoy drew out his notebook and pen and composed his features into a serious but inquisitive expression.

Reyhan glanced at him nervously but spoke directly to me with the air of a born talker who knew she had a juicy story.

"It was just like when I was small," she said. "I was walking back from the market across the pass with the boys. The sun was low and I could not see very well, but the boys ran on ahead. As I came down around the turn to the bottom of the ridge, a huge black wolf was there on the mountain. It was so tall," she gestured chest-height dramatically, "and began to chase me toward the village. I shouted to the boys to run and I dropped my cheese and ran after them and did not look back until I had left the pass and was coming down the path with the village in sight." She paused with the innate instinct of a natural storyteller. She bounced the baby on her lap, prolonging the effect.

I recognised my cue.

"And then?" I asked.

"Then," she continued, "I shouted for my husband and he came running. When I stopped by his side, the wolf was gone. The boys did not see it, and my husband told me I was crazy."

She snorted emphatically. "I told him that I would not go back for the cheese and if he wanted it for his dinner he must go himself. He took the gun and got the cheese and said that there were no wolf tracks."

I glanced at Malfoy, wondering if he had the same mental picture of this plump little woman flinging aside her cheese and sprinting down the mountain. From his firmly pursed lips and refusal to meet my eye, I suspected he did. He made a careful note on in his book before looking up.

"So," he asked, "did you see the wolf again?"

Reyhan answered, still looking at me.

"I had to take my stones to the village. There is a woman there who makes very beautiful jewellery and sells it to the tourists that come to visit the lake. It is nice jewellery and not only shoddy for the tourists. She relies on my stones to keep her business and so I had to go. You should look at her things at the train station."

Sales pitch concluded she hurried on.

"So I had to take my stones and so I asked my friend Li to come along. She is very brave and brought the gun and we left the boys at home. We have been friends since we were small girls when she came with her uncle from Shanghai, but even so I could tell that she really did not believe me about the wolf. So we went and did not see it all the way to the village. She was teasing me about the great black wolf all the way back and then suddenly there he was. She fired the gun and we ran and ran."

"That sounds terrifying," I said.

"Oh, yes!" Reyhan confirmed with relish. "I have tried one time to go back to the village early in the morning, but I was so frightened that I send my husband now. He does not like it, but he wants his cheese, so..." She shrugged eloquently.

"Yes," I agreed, "I do understand that."

So far nothing about her story seemed remotely magical in nature. It was even just as likely that the women had seen a large feral dog that looked wolfish. The only hint of mystery was the supposed lack of footprints reported by the husband.

I opened my own notebook and showed her two pictures. The first a normal wolf common to the Himalayas, and the second a simplified illustration of a werewolf.

"Did the wolf look like either of these?" I asked.

"This," she pointed immediately to the common Himalayan wolf, "only so large and black."

"Who else has seen the wolf since?" I asked.

"Li went back with her husband to see if she had hit the wolf, but they didn't see it. Then her husband saw it months later, in the winter, and shot at it again because he was afraid that it would come down for the sheep."

"Ri, Ri!" Two little boys tumbled in through the open doorway, shouting and shoving one another. They froze when they saw me and Malfoy seated at the table with Reyhan and Nur. A beleaguered looking young woman with a large basket appeared behind them.

"Did you let the hens out?" Reyhan asked the boys sharply.

"Yes," said the bigger boy, nodding. They both stared at Draco in fascination. He raised his eyebrows back at them.

"Juju scraped his knee climbing over the fence again," the young woman grumbled as she shoved the smaller, very grubby boy over to Reyhan and then plopped her heavy basket on the table next to me.

Reyhan made a motherly clucking sort of noise, much like a hen herself, and promptly handed the baby in her arms to the young woman. She squatted down to inspect the scraped knee.

"Your skin may never grow back there," she warned him. He looked supremely unconcerned and continued to stare at Draco, mouth slack. Reyhan wiped the knee gently with a rag from her apron pocket and the little boy scampered away into the corner only to return a second later with a dingy football that had definitely seen better days. He stopped to stare at Malfoy again.

"Juju," Reyhan chided, but Draco stood up briskly and jerked his thumb at the door. Juju bounded through it with a shout, followed by the older boy. Draco sauntered silently out after them but we immediately heard a muffled "hey now" and the thump of a boot against a ball.

I stared at the empty doorway in wonderment. It was as though here, where there was nobody at all to see it, the best side of Draco Malfoy was beginning to show through the slowly crumbling facade he had persistently maintained since the day I met him.

"This is Li," Reyhan introduced the newcomer. Li chattered quickly to Nur with a respectful bob of her head and took Draco's abandoned seat next to me.

"I'm Hermione,"I told her. She smiled warmly at me but then turned to speak rapidly to Reyhan.

I drew Malfoy's notebook around to see what he had written. A neat column of notes filled one side of the page. The other side had a measured list of questions that corresponded with the account of Reyhan's story. In the bottom corner he had scratched a vaguely familiar shape that could have been a wand or a unicorn's horn. At its tip dripped a droplet of something.

I flipped his notebook shut feeling slightly guilty, like I had accidentally spied on something private.

Reyhan seemed more comfortable with just us women in the room and between her and Li and Nur, I heard several more accounts of wolf sightings.

"So," I interrupted at one point as we sipped some hot dark tea, "the wolf has only ever been seen on the path or just above it?"

"Yes," Li confirmed, "right by the last bend before the ridge."

"And only three people have seen multiple wolves?" I leaned back in my chair thoughtfully.

"That's right," Nur said. "The first time was those two tourists. They had come over the pass right after Yusup and I had been chased by the wolf. We told them to be careful. They left after supper when the sun was setting and saw five wolves, all black, and were chased back down to the village."

"Then my husband saw four wolves a few months ago," Li said. "He was looking for a lamb and climbed over the ridge from the east and saw them down in the path."

"But they didn't chase him," Nur pointed out, "and he found the lamb was nearby unharmed."

Not for the first time I sensed in our discussion a kind of fatalistic acceptance of this wolfish phenomenon. Nur's words seemed almost a defence of the phantom that haunted their pass and made life so difficult.

"Is there anyone else we should talk to?" I asked, looking between Reyhan and Li in inquiry.

"Maybe Wei Wei," Reyhan said, uncertainly. She and Li shared a significant look.

"Tomorrow," Nur said decidedly. “We will go back now and prepare supper and will go to see her tomorrow."

She stood and I copied her, surprised to note that it seemed to be past noon already.

"Thank you so much," I nodded, gathering my notes and Malfoy's book and following Nur out, "it has been lovely to speak with you."

"You will have trouble getting your husband away from the boys," Reyhan called after us from the doorway. “They will pester him with that ball now as long as you are here."

She was smiling fondly up the road where Draco and her two boys had been joined by another child and were playing two-a-side in the street.

I felt my cheeks flush at her words, a reminder of our deception, and was glad that Malfoy hadn't heard. He saw us leave the house and waved a hand. A nice, normal wave.

I tried to remember, to picture him, tall, dark robed, stalking down the halls of Hogwarts sporting his shiny Inquisitorial Squad badge, bullying terrified first-years with his gang of hulking Slytherins, but the picture was fuzzy. This happy, grinning boy with the pushed up sleeves and messy hair—trousers red with dust—was a different person completely.

"Your husband is very handsome," Nur commented, jerking me out of my reverie.

"Oh?" I squeaked. As if I didn't know. Malfoy would be livid if he heard this. I took Nur's arm to walk with her back to her house. She patted my hand gently.

"Oh yes," she went on, "but he could use some fattening up." There was mild rebuke in her tone. No doubt she had plans to instruct me on the care and feeding of husbands.

"Hmm," I managed.

 

"The men of the village told me basically the same story as Reyhan," Malfoy said as he floppeddown on his bed. He had spent the afternoon with the boys, gathering more information about the wolves.

"I'm not even sure why we're here," I mused, perching carefully on the edge of my own bed. I had spent the afternoon helping Nur gather herbs and other plants from the mountainside and my back was a little tired from all the stooping.

"Well," said Malfoy, sitting up hastily, "you have to admit that it is pretty strange wolf behaviour: not ranging, not attacking the sheep, only appearing at dusk or a full moon..."

"Yes," I interrupted, "but it's not magical behaviour is it? I mean, it could just be a shyer subspecies of the Himalayan wolf that has interbred to be all black. It's not impossible that it could be completely natural."

"It's not werewolf behaviour," Malfoy admitted, "but it is still unnatural. It keeps the people here from going to the next village for school, food, medical attention, anything that might mean a trip through the pass near sunset."

"Well..." I sighed.

"Li's husband shot right at it from twenty meters away and it did nothing," Draco rushed on. “It could be an unregistered animagus that's hiding up here from the law. The Chinese Ministry isn't exactly going to care about a tiny Uyghur village and its pesky wolf problem."

This passion, this...caring... from him was unnerving me a bit. I kept my voice deliberately even.

"Yes, that could fit if we set aside the two reports of multiple wolves, but the fact is that, wolf or not, nothing concrete has actually happened."

"But still..."

"No," I persisted, "I'm not giving up, not at all. I'm just saying we should keep an open mind. If it is an animagus it hasn't hurt anyone and may just need help."

"Okay," he looked slightly relieved. He swung his legs heavily off the bed. "I'm starving and battered,” he groaned. "Who knew football could be as rough on the body as quidditch? Those kids are terrors!" He twisted to rub his shoulder with another groan.

"You are in luck times two," I said. "Nur happens to think I haven't been feeding you properly, by which she means with plenty of meat, and we also collected ingredients for a Chinese muscle balm that we are going to make tonight for Yusup's back."

I stood and stretched as well, rubbing the base of my spine. Malfoy held the door open for me with his arm high over my head.

As I ducked under he muttered, "I'll do yours if you do mine, Granger."

"In your dreams, Malfoy," I shot at him, but I could feel the back of my neck burning.

 

Nur and I had prepared a simple meal of lamb kebabs with heavily herbed rice. Yusup murmured affectionately to his wife as he took his seat and she laughed warmly.

Domestic tasks never came easily for me. I had been the default cook at eighteen on our flight from Voldemort, not because of any culinary prowess, but because of my gender. I was proud, however, of this meal. It affected me profoundly to see the way Nur poured love into each little task that brought the meal together, knowing that the result would be appreciated, not just anticipated or expected.

Not taken for granted.

I had garnished the table setting with a small bowl of late summer wild flowers, and the low light of the glowing fire and oil lamps made the room feel cozy and intimate. Nur poured us each a bowl of tea and then served the lamb and rice with great care, giving her husband and Malfoy generous helpings.

"May I ask a personal question?" I turned to Nur as we ate, "well, personal about Reyhan?"

"Of course," Nur replied.

"Isn't, isn't there," I stammered. I could feel that damnable blush returning, "isn't there a one child law in China? And she seems so young to have boys that age..."

"Yes," Nur nodded sadly, "the boys are the sons of her brother and Li's cousin. They went into Kyrgyzstan, oh, five years ago," she looked at Yusup who nodded in confirmation, "and didn't come back. We think they must have been killed for political reasons, but we don't know for sure. So now the boys are Ri Ri's"

"How awful," I said softly.

"It is awful. Yet there is much else to be happy about," Yusup reminded us. “The almonds are selling very well and we may be able to finish the school for the little ones soon. We have a large flock of geese for the village, so that is good as well."

"Yes," I agreed, glancing at Malfoy. I wanted to ask him if a large flock of geese would do to make him happy, but it seemed a flippant and at the same time very personal question. Still, I wanted to ask.

"Oh!" I jumped in my seat as though an electric current had run through it, "I remembered something I meant to ask Reyhan!"

"About geese?" Malfoy drawled. He was smiling a secret half smile at me. Was he reading my mind?

"No," I rolled my eyes at him and turned back to Nur, "but something she said didn't strike me until later."

"Yes?" Nur looked at me curiously.

"What did she mean, 'it was just like when we were small?' Did she see a wolf when she was young?"

"I don't know," Nur looked at Yusup with startled eyes, "we only came here when Yusup finished teaching ten years ago."

"Another layer to the mystery," Malfoy leaned back in his chair with a sigh. 

Nur and I cleared the dinner things and began concocting our muscle balm while Yusup and Malfoy sat in front of the fire, deep in conversation. Whatever their topic, Malfoy's brow knit in concentration. Yusup did most of the talking while Malfoy listened, nodding and responding occasionally.

"Now," Nur told me firmly, "when you apply this balm, you must use much pressure to the skin," she pushed down on the table in demonstration, "and the heat from your hands will do as much good as the balm itself, so you must give quick strokes." She smiled and spooned half of our mixture into one bowl and handed it to me.

The image of my own palms dragging soothingly down Malfoy's bare back swam unbidden into my brain. I stared fixedly at the balm, my cheeks flaming, and nodded to Nur, not trusting my voice. She chucked a fist gently under my chin, and I had a sudden suspicion that she knew about our deception and was toying with me accordingly. I met her twinkling gaze and the openness there quieted my worry.

"Have a good sleep," Nur said, collecting her own bowl of balm and a clean rag.

"Goodnight," I smiled.

Malfoy followed me into our room and, like the night before, shut the door and leaned against it. This time, however, instead of an irritated scowl, he wore a slightly predatory smile.

"So," he drawled, showily locking and silencing the door, "we've had a busy day," his long fingers moved to the top buttons of his shirt, mirroring my bold response to his challenge the night before.

"Yes," I set the bowl down with a rather precarious thump on the wash stand and turned quickly away as the pale expanse of his chest began to appear beneath the row of undone buttons.

Undone. Get it together Hermione. I dug my textbook from my bag, setting it on my bed, and then summoned my sleeping clothes.

"I'll change out in the toilet," I hurried toward the door.

"What if someone sees you?" Malfoy's voice was low and admonishing. “Won't they think that very...odd behaviour for my wife?"

"Who'd possibly see me?" I scoffed, reaching for the exterior door handle.

"I suppose, if you're willing to risk it..." he smirked another challenge.

I hesitated and he grinned, pulling the tails of his shirt from his trousers with a flourish. I returned his cheeky gaze as boldly as I could, searching his eyes for that old glint of malice I'd seen many a time.

He raised one eyebrow and looked me up and down. What was his game here? If he was trying to make me uncomfortable, it wouldn't...well, it was working, but to what end?

He was growing smugger by the second, his shirt hanging open, his bare chest rising heavily, and as I stared at him he reached for the buckle of his belt.

"I'll take my chances," I snapped, jerking open the door and stepping out into the cool night. The sky was incredibly clear and cold, and I could already see thousands of brilliant stars although the western sky still glowed with the last of the evening sunset. I cast a quick muggle-repelling charm and strode into the little outbuilding that held the toilet. I changed hastily and hurried back to the door of our room.

Shivering in my shorts and flimsy sleep top, I nevertheless paused with my hand on the door. Should I call out? Knock? Clear my throat loudly?

I opted to open the door very slowly, clutching my clothes and wand to my chest.

Malfoy was shirtless in the warm room, seated cross-legged on his bed with my Shakespeare over his lap. I walked deliberately to my own bed, eyes firmly forward, and assumed a similar pose with my textbook. We both read in tense silence for several minutes.

"Aren't you going to demonstrate your smelly concoction for me?" Malfoy closed his book with a snap and tossed it to his rucksack on the floor. He stretched his long arms wide, the faded mark on his forearm an ugly blot. His bare back, however, was perfectly pale and unblemished and he turned it towards me in taunting expectation.

I closed my book gently, every nerve ending in my body vibrating an alarm.

Danger! Danger!

But two could play this game, and although I didn't know the rules, I'd always been a quick study.

I set my book next to my bed and swung my legs down. I pulled my hair up high on my crown and secured it with an elastic. Malfoy's eyes never left me, and I could see a flicker of uncertainty there when I reached for my wand. With a smirk of my own I stood and merely gave it a swish that dimmed the single oil lamp. I concentrated on keeping my breathing steady and tossed my wand back onto my bed. I picked up the bowl and stepped beside Malfoy, pleased to see that his own breathing was a little ragged now. I handed him the bowl and scooped out a small dollop of balm with two fingers. His eyes widened satisfactorily as he watched me.

I tore my gaze from his, a little too afraid of myself to witness his reaction, and slowly pushed the hem of my top up a couple of inches. I stared over his head as I began to massage the balm into my lower spine with both hands. I let my shirt fall back down and took another dollop of balm from the bowl. I rolled my neck and then rubbed the balm down from my nape and then across my shoulders, pushing aside the straps of my top as I went. A pleasant warm tingling spread where my hands traveled l, and I closed my eyes with a little sigh. I stopped with both arms still raised.

"Enough of a demonstration for you?" I asked as I opened my eyes to find Malfoy glaring hotly at me. I dropped my arms and tilted my head at him innocently, enjoying his angry, flustered expression.

"It's really relaxing," I jabbed as I sank back onto my bed, dragging my blanket over me.

"Night Malfoy."


	6. It is a Star

   Malfoy was understandably on the grumpy side as we ate our breakfast in the warm kitchen the next morning. Nur bustled around us, only sending me one questioning look that I answered with a tiny shrug. 

"Where is Yusup this morning?" I asked, sipping my potent tea with enjoyment.

Nur looked slightly uncomfortable.

"He has crossed the ridge to the next village to see...for an appointment," she didn't meet my eyes, "but he will be back before the evening meal."

"He must have left very early," Malfoy commented in a surprised tone.

"Yes," Nur replied, "to avoid the wolf, one must go as the sun rises over the desert."

I felt a stab of guilt at this. I should have been researching last night, not messing around with Malfoy. The whole purpose of this trip was to try to help our lovely hosts, not take advantage of their generous hospitality while engaging in some sort of juvenile power play with my erstwhile colleague.

"Is it safe for us to go up the path this morning, do you think?" I asked.

"Yes," Nur nodded slowly, "but do not stay past the hour when the ridge begins to cast its shadow on the path. That is when the wolf will appear."

"Will we be able to visit that womanthat Reyhan mentioned yesterday?" I stood and collected Malfoy's empty plate and teacup and carried our dishes to the wash basin.

"Yes," Nur agreed hesitantly, "but, perhaps, you only. She is not fond of strangers and will be easier with a girl."

"Okay," I nodded, glancing at Malfoy who was still scowling at me pointedly. “Are you ready to go?"

"Yes.” he stood abruptly.

"Er." I stepped back as he stomped past me to the door.

"I'll be ready to take you to see Wei Wei at noon," Nur told me.

"Alright." I grabbed my bag from my chair and followed Malfoy out the door. He was already striding up the path through the village, his long legs carrying him away from me at a rate I couldn't possibly match.

I decided to take my time instead of rushing to catch up to him. I stopped in front of Reyhan's house and saw her boys in the side yard chasing a haggard looking rooster. Juju had a freshly skinned knee, I noticed.

"Good morning," Reyhan came to the door with a pleasant smile.

"Morning," I smiled and bobbed back. “We are going to do some research up the path this morning."

"Do not stay past noon," she warned with a shudder, "because the wolf will arrive as soon as the shadows fall on the path."

"We've been told," I assured her, "thank you. I hope to see you later."

I strolled up the path and found Malfoy standing by the one spreading tree that shaded the end house of the village. He stood with his arms folded, staring up at the mouth of the pass.

"I think you should cast the protective charms," he said as I joined him.

"Don't you think charms will interfere with our detection capabilities?" I studied his profile, his sharp jaw set but no longer clenched, brows furrowed in deliberation.

"Don't you think it would be safer to do our first inspection with the protection charms? We don't have any idea of what we might find up there, and whatever it is might react more hostilely to our magical presence than to the muggle villagers. Some...dark magic feels more threatened by other magic."

"I sometimes wonder at the distinction between dark magic and other magic," I mused. "I mean, really, any magic, even a relatively harmless Wingardium Leviosa, can do a lot of damage when used with dark intention."

"How very...philosophical of you, Granger," he growled, still staring straight ahead, "but that doesn't answer the question."

"Maybe whatever we find would be more threatened by our automatic defensiveness than otherwise," I shrugged, "and if our intention is really inquiry, not attack, I think we should just go up mentally prepared for anything."

"That's not a plan," he sneered, finally looking down at me.

"No," I agreed, thinking suddenly that, at least a dozen times in my childhood, I had said those exact words to either Harry or Ron, "and despite what you may think, I'm perfectly willing to be persuaded."

His eyebrows shot up and he stared at me for an awkward second. I willed myself to not look away, but met his gaze steadily.

"Okay. No charms, but wands out, then?" He said lowly. I nodded and drew my wand from my sleeve.

Although the gap in the ridge appeared close, it took us nearly twenty minutes to reach it from the edge of the village. I felt embarrassingly winded and had a painful stitch by the time we climbed the last little steep stretch.

"Merlin!" I gasped. “Give me a moment Malfoy," I clutched my side and took a few deep breaths. I turned to look down on the village below us and he turned to look as well, chuckling quite unnecessarily at my lack of fitness. The rosy desert spread out before us like a spilled pot of paint.

"Wow!" I breathed.

"How did you manage to climb all the stairs at Hogwarts with your bag jammed with books and yet this little hill has you nearly flattened?" Malfoy teased, hands on his hips as he chuckled again.

I looked at him sideways, my heart constricting. That was the first time he had mentioned our school by name in the entire four months we had worked together.

"I guess at Hogwarts I kept in stair-climbing practice," I said simply, "although we had learned so many secret passages by third year, it wasn't as much of a workout after that."

"Third year," Malfoy growled, "the year of the Firebolt."

I rolled my eyes. "For goodness sake. Really?"

"You ready now?" He smirked at me maddeningly.

"Yes," I sighed.

We turned and entered the pass. The path was at least two arm spans across, wide enough for a small car, but large boulders protruded from the ground every so often, making it difficult for even someone on a motorbike to navigate the rough terrain. Walking in good hiking boots was very pleasant, however.

We marched side by side for about half a mile, alert, but comfortable in the morning cool. The sides of the path rose as we climbed, and the air grew gradually stiller. I kept my gaze on the ground, searching for suspicious tracks, but all I could see with my untrained eyes were bootprints.

The path ahead of us made to curve sharply around a high embankment and we both stopped in instinctive wariness.

"You feel that?" I asked quietly. I clutched my wand in front of me, trying to ignore the thump of my heart and focus on the buzz of malignant magic that tinged the air. I felt suddenly frightened for the first time since we'd apparated into Beijing

"It's like someone's talking just behind a door," Malfoy whispered and I could hear the tension in his voice, "but the door is hidden."

"And that someone is planning dark things behind that hidden door," I murmured, turning and stepping closer until my shoulder brushed his. I moved my wand diagnostically across the shaded embankment, but could only perceive that vague, menacing aura that had halted us.

Malfoy was muttering under his breath as he cast his own spells on the opposite bank, but nothing seemed to be revealed or even affected by our magic.

I nudged his arm with my elbow, preferring to stay quiet, and we rounded the bend together. The empty, dusty path sloped down exactly as it had on the south side, and the dark feeling still lingered, but was less pressing and intense.

"Well," I pushed my sweaty hair from my face with a shaky hand, "you were obviously right about something magical going on up here."

"Did you come up with anything?" Malfoy asked. He didn't even take the opportunity to gloat, so I knew he'd been as rattled as I.

"No," I admitted, "not even Hominem Revelio gave me a clue, so I doubt it's an animagus we are dealing with, and a werewolf wouldn't be transformed in the middle of the day, full moon or no."

"So not a werewolf or a harmless animagus..." his mouth twitched into a teensy smirk.

"I said 'I doubt it's an animagus,' but we can't rule that out. I've never tested the spell on a transfigured animagus. I wonder if Professor McGonagall..."

"Logistically though, why the hell would an animagus lurk around here? The sides of the path are practically sheer, and you can't see anyone coming up or down the path to either avoid or attack," he pushed his hair back from his forehead as he craned his neck to peer down the path ahead of us.

"I don't know," I sighed, "but there's one way to find out what's going on."

"How?"

"We go back around the bend and wait for the shadow to cross the path and see what happens."

Malfoy frowned. He opened his mouth and snapped it shut again without saying anything.

"Well?"

"I don't like it," he drew his wand across his palm in a subconscious motion. I recognised that particular gesture: I did that myself when extremely nervous. So, I fought back my initial impulse to goad him and waited a beat.

"I don't really like it either," I said finally, "but we're here to figure this out, right?"

"Okay."

We turned together and walked back up the path. My arm hairs began to stand on end the moment we rounded the bend, and I angled my body slightly away from Malfoy so that I could still keep an eye on him but our backs weren't so exposed.

I tried to regulate my breathing but it still sounded loud and fast in my own ears. This was nearly as bad as that horrible half hour I had spent next to Dolores Umbridge taking notes in that awful courtroom, thinking any moment my polyjuice would wear off and I'd be discovered.

We stood there for at least a quarter hour as the shadow inched across the path, but nothing else seemed to change. As the shadow covered the path completely Malfoy matched my raised eyebrows with his own shrug. We waited for another ten minutes when I finally heard a tiny noise.

It sounded like a muffled shuffling crunching on the path. The feeling of general malevolence intensified and then flickered and left. Not stopped or died, but left, and I instantly registered the familiarity of the sound that was growing clearer every moment.

"Oh, put your wand away!" I hissed hastily, tucking my own wand quickly up my sleeve. Malfoy staredat me like I'd grown a second head, but grudgingly complied just as Yusup hobbled around the bend, his gnarled walking stick crunching the loose gravel on the path as he shuffled along.

"Ai!" He startled at our appearance, his hand grasping his chest.

"I'm so sorry," I apologised, hurrying to him and taking his arm, "we were just doing some research and we didn't mean to frighten you."

"You should be getting down off the path," he admonished, steering me easily past a slightly sheepish Malfoy and towards the village.

"Yes," I agreed, "Nur is to take me to speak with Wei Wei and I am already late.”

Our descent was rapid.

 

"It was a Japanese soldier!"

"I...I'm sorry?" The tip of my pen jerked across the pristine page of my notepad leaving a jagged scribble.

"A Japanese soldier. I'd know the uniform anywhere. He had his bayonet fixed and he wore a wicked, wicked leer, like a wicked wolf."

"I..." my eyes sought Nur's over Wei Wei's bent shoulders and her bemused expression told me I'd not misheard. "I'm afraid I don't understand," I said slowly. "I am here to look into the unusual activity that has been reported on the mountain pass..."

"Yes!" Wei Wei frowned at me, twisting her wrinkled hands in her lap. Her voice bore signs of irritation, as though I was missing an obvious point.

"Do you mean to say," I asked carefully, "that you met a Japanese soldier on the pass?"

"Of course," she snapped, "I would recognise the uniform anywhere. He had his bayonet fixed and he was leering..."

"Wei Wei," Nur interrupted gently, "she is asking about the pass here, above the village. Are you not confused? Are you maybe remembering the war?"

Uncertainty flashed across Wei Wei's lined face, and a sympathetic surge of guilt flashed across my gut. I studied her as she sat huddled in her rocking chair by the dim fire, and I could see traces of a once beautiful woman beneath her anxious exterior. Her dress was old-fashioned, but she was tidy and her hair had been styled with attention.

"I'd like to hear everything you can recall." I pushed my sympathy aside for the moment and spoke with as much detached inquiry as I could muster. "There have been different reports from many people, but I would like to know your story straight from you."

At this Wei Wei straightened proudly and visibly steeled herself. I put my pen to paper.

"It was last spring, before my legs began to bother me so, and I walked over to the town for a peach tree. It came from the north, near the border, and I carried it away on my back like a child. I walked home through the pass and at the top I met the soldier."

"Was he walking from this village?" I asked.

"Oh no," Wei Wei shook her head emphatically, "he was just there."

"Ah," I avoided Nur's gaze but saw her shift in her seat uncomfortably.

"He had blood on his front and his bayonet was dripping, and my heart nearly stopped. I knew I could not run and so I spoke firmly to him and walked past. Then when I looked back there was a black wolf there, which must have belonged to him. It had the same hungry look."

I stared into the fire for a full minute. An idea was tickling the back of my brain, but the more I reached for it, the more it slipped away from me. A black wolf. A hungry look. I shook myself and smiled at her encouragingly.

"That must have been horrible," I said.

"I saw rivers of blood before I came to Xinjiang," her tone was scornful now. "One pathetic soldier cannot frighten me so easily."

"When did you move here?"

"1945. From Nanking."

 

"I am afraid that she is rather confused," Nur said apologetically as we walked back down the track to her house. "She has probably heard the stories of the wolf and imagined this tale."

"Was she..." it felt so intrusive to ask, but "was she in Nanking when Japan invaded?"

"Yes."

We had drunk tea and helped Wei Wei by grinding some herbs for a concoction she made for her stiffness. Her fingers ached with the arthritis. She had shown me her hand-painted fans with their graceful writing, and I saw the ghosts of her beautiful childhood before it had been shredded by war.

 

 

 

 

After a late supper I excused myself to bed while Malfoy sat by the fire again with Yusup. I changed distractedly and then applied a damp comb to my curls. I stood over the wash stand as I eased the teeth gently through the knots, taking my time to pick them apart, and stared into the quietly flickering flame of the oil lamp.I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd received an obvious clue today, but my mind kept wandering back to our original question.

Werewolf or not werewolf? Now with more information that idea was almost ludicrous. But an animagus that lurked on a remote mountain pass wearing a gore-stained Japanese uniform and changing randomly into a black wolf? As Ron would say: what the bloody hell?

I should have asked Wei Wei what she had said, exactly, to put the hideous soldier in his place, but it hadn't seemed important at the time. These pertinent questions were constantly about three hours behind in my brain and I didn't like that frustrating feeling.

"Hey." The door creaked slowly open and Malfoy stepped inside our room. I could feel his stare on me as I continued to coax my hair into cooperation, but I kept my eyes focused on the oil lamp.

"Yusup used to be a professor." Malfoy leaned against the door, arms crossed, watching me.

"That would explain their educated manner of speaking." I nodded, glancing at him. His hair gleamed like a galleon in the low gloaming. "Did you find out anything else about our wolf?"

"More of the same." 

"I’ll look away if you want to change."

"Aww, you're no fun Granger."

I rolled my eyes and focused again on the lamp. The little bump of light was beginning to hypnotise me. I struggled with a particularly stubborn knot, listening to Malfoy hum tunelessly as he undressed.

"So Wei Wei says it is a Japanese soldier," I told him conversationally.

"Is she off her rocker like Reyhan seemed to think?"

"I don't know," I shook my head negatively as I set my comb down. "She was quite coherent while I was there."

"Well, one can maintain coherence for a short time if motivated."

"What does that mean?"

"I dunno Granger, I'm just thinking aloud."

"Okay."

I heard him settle onto the bed.

"You..." he paused.

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

I turned sharply to look at him. He was stretched out, one arm over his head, but despite the languid pose, I could see the corded muscles of his forearm that told me he was far from relaxed.

"I... yes," I swallowed and averted my gaze. "But doesn't it feel like we are missing something really simple here?"

"Like what?"

"Urgh, Malfoy, if I knew what, I wouldn't be missing it! Like we are looking at the wrong thing. Like we are asking the wrong question. Like we are dealing with something neither of us has heard of."

"We've got time, and you've got a library of books in that bag. You'll figure it out."

"We."

"Right. We'll figure it out."

I sat on the edge of my bed, determined not to get too comfortable, and dug out my third year DADA textbook. Let's start at the very beginning. Page 394: Werewolves.

I read one line and shut the book.

Malfoy was staring at me again, his expression a mixture of exasperation and curiosity. He had scooted up the bed and held a thick book open on his own lap.

"You know Remus Lupin was a werewolf," I said.

"Of course. Teddy is my cousin."

"Didn't you know third year?"

"Well, Snape did let it out..."

"He was the kindest, best teacher we ever had. He was lovely."

"I'd never call Snape lovely..."

"Don't be so damned facetious. It's lowering."

"I...no."

"His friends learned to become Animagi to help him through his transitions. He was the gentlest...but you lose yourself in the wolf form. There is no reason, no kindness. No humanity."

"I know. I saw..."

"Yes?"

"Greyback."

"Oh. Of course." I felt a sick twinge.

"Not that he had any humanity in his human form," Draco spat.

I stared back at him, thinking, thinking, thinking. Animagus? Not werewolf for sure, but why?

"Can you write in Japanese?"

"What?"

"Could you," I fumbled crossly, loth to imply that I couldn’t do what I was about to ask of him. “Could you write a message in Japanese? Like, write it and then translate it on paper?"

"Maybe," he looked confused again.

"Just...if it's an animagus, whoever he is he's obviously either not interested in speaking to anyone, or he can't." I hugged my textbook to me, trying to grasp that slippery idea. "I don't know."

"I can try it." Malfoy still looked doubtful, but he set down his book and reached into his rucksack for a paper and quill. "What should I write?"

"Something simple? 'Friends', maybe? Or 'do you need help?'"

"Okay..." he began to slowly scratch out some lines.

"Oh," I flopped back on my bed, my feet still on the floor. "This is wrong! Why can't I get it?"

"Let's try this, at least.” Malfoy sounded soothingly diplomatic now, as though he thought I might be on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

"Something about werewolves just keeps insinuating itself into my brain. I know it's wrong, but I can't get it out!"

"Will you be quiet a moment here?"

He was annoyed with me this time. Now that I could process. I slithered my legs under my blanket and turned to watch him writing.

 

"Malfoy?" I jerked awake. The lamp was out and the room was darkened, but I could see his upright shadow on the bed facing me. My heart pounded and my top stuck to me with sweat.

"You were...moaning," he growled.

"I had a nightmare.”

"No shit."

"I think..." I gulped.

"You were."

"I'm sorry." I flung my stifling blanket away and panted.

"You're sorry?" His snort was eloquent.

Images from my dream blurred in my brain as I ran a hand over my eyes. A werewolf hunched next to the whomping willow, the howl, and the moon. The moon, round, and full, and hanging. The moon, an orb like a crystal ball. Why would the Professor be scared of a crystal ball?

"Malfoy?"

"Still here."

"I think I've figured it out."

"And? Are you going to explain it to me?"

"You won't like it."

"You won't like being throttled in your bed, either."

"I think it's a boggart."

Silence.

"Shit."


	7. Whose Worth’s Unknown

   'Things will look better in the morning' did not apply to me the next day. I had lain silently awake most of the night, only succumbing to sleep again in the small hours near dawn. Malfoy had risen earlier and I finally struggled from my bed and stumbled out to the toilet as gloomy sunlight filtered in our small window.

The morning air was a swirl of brownish mist, sticky and slow. I could barely see the toilet house from our door, and an unnerving effect of the fog was an almost complete silence.

The dense atmosphere perfectly suited my mental discomfiture. I had the uneasy feeling that I’d been neglecting my armour last night and, perhaps, may have allowed Malfoy an unintended glimpse at my own fragility. The fact that he’d been so mysteriously patient and encouraging left me even uneasier.

A boggart. I really couldn’t be more positive. As the pieces fitted together in my mind my confidence in the answer grew.

But this was no third year Defence Against the Dark Arts class. There was no reassuring Professor Lupin standing by if we choked, no convenient wardrobe to bung the thing back into if we froze.

And we’d both changed, Malfoy and I, in the last ten years, to be sure. We’d both seen enough horrors to sustain a hundred boggarts, and I knew that my own nightmares had certainly progressed past anxiety over test results.

What would my boggart be now? Harry or Ron stretched out in the finality of death? Snape on the filthy floor of the Shrieking Shack with the blood gurgling and bubbling between his clutching fingers as he vainly pressed them to his mangled throat?

Or my own parents, their blank faces turned calmly to me as I rushed across the way, unrecognised, trying to reach them before a pressing gang of masked Death Eaters?

I had always been the one with questions. Questions kept you sharp. Questions kept you learning, adapting, moving. Questions kept you safe.

But now the biggest question loomed, jeering and crowing at my un-Gryffindor-like cowardice. What was worse: not knowing my biggest fear, or showing it to Draco Malfoy? 

I washed quickly and returned to our room. The books I’d brought didn’t even touch the subject of boggarts—pitiful third-year stuff that—but I sat and picked up various volumes and flipped through their pages without reading, waiting. Finally I heard a muffled tread approaching.

“I want to go ask Reyhan one more thing,” I blurted the instant Malfoy cracked open the door, “but I’m positive I’m right. It’s a boggart. It all fits.”

“I don’t see how you just suddenly came up with that theory,” Malfoy said doubtfully, rubbing his knuckles along the angle of his jaw. “What kind of dream was that?”

“I’ll explain everything,” I promised, “but please just trust me for a bit till I double check. I want...”

“Of course I trust you,” he said quickly, a wounded tone slightly edging his words. He folded his arms and looked away from me at nothing.

“I...,” _I trust you too_ , I wanted to say, but I couldn’t quite, “...I’m glad,” I finally managed.

He didn’t frown, or flush, or fluster, but I still experienced a guilty pang like I’d just accidentally kicked a puppy. I rose from my bed and brushed past him in embarrassment.

We walked in silence to Reyhan’s house, deftly weaving through the flock of chickens that pecked furiously at the rutted path.

“Good morning,” Reyhan called as she met us at the door, baby firmly on hip.

“Good morning.” I smiled back.

Malfoy seemed to understand by instinct that the village women felt more comfortable with me one on one, and simply nodded a greeting before strolling casually on.

“And how are you today?” I enquired, reaching for her baby who burbled enthusiastically as she tumbled into my arms.

“She is much happier now,” Reyhan offered warmly. “Yusup was able to go over the pass for me and brought back medicine for her teeth.” Reyhan pushed back the baby’s lip to display a single white tooth protruding from her reddened gums.

“You poor dear.” I snuggled the baby close, but she wriggled out of my restrictive embrace, energetically reaching for her mother again.

“We were all able to sleep through the night at last,” Reyhan grinned, bouncing her daughter affectionately, the way mothers have for millennia.

“May I speak to you for a moment, about that wolf?” I asked, even more determined by this fresh reminder of my purpose in Xinjiang.

“Come in,” Reyhan said, stepping aside to let me pass.

“I only wanted to find out...” I composed my question carefully, “What did you mean the other day when you said ‘it was just like when I was small?’”

“Oh,” Reyhan waved a hand dismissively, “when I was very small my father and I were out looking for stray lambs and were chased by a wolf just like the one on the pass now. My father shot and killed it before it could get me, but I will never ever forget it.

“Interesting,” I suppressed a crow of triumph at this confirmation, but I wouldn’t be Hermione Granger if I didn’t just double check my double check. “So it was the same size and colour. Everything the same?”

“Oh, yes,” she nodded decidedly. 

“Thank you!” I backed towards the door. Yes yes yes!

 

“So the first person to encounter the boggart was Reyhan, who experienced it as the wolf of her childhood,” I paced anxiously in the shade of the town tree as I explained my theory to Malfoy. “Then she told the village what had happened and they sort of, I don’t know, adopted her worst fear in expectation of meeting it.” Malfoy nodded obligingly. “Then Wei Wei met it, but maybe she hadn’t heard or her own deepest fear overrode the wolf image, and she experienced it as a soldier.”

“Yes,” Malfoy interrupted, “but by your account she didn’t seem particularly perturbed by the ‘experience,’ as you call it.”

“Well,” I countered, “maybe not in the safety of her own home months later. But realistically, what was the worst that could have happed to her?”

“I...I don’t exactly know,” Malfoy admitted.

“Me neither,” I confessed. “Magical folk devised a way to destroy boggarts, but I remember in third year reading about plenty of muggle villages who simply lived with them, so to speak.”

We stood in silent contemplation for a moment. Neither of us had broached the thorny two-pronged crux of the matter, namely, how would we despatch this particular boggart without attracting the villagers’ attention, and, thorniest of thorns, were we willing to show our deepest fears, manifest, to each other to do it?

“There’s a political aspect I never considered until this moment,” I said, definitely not stalling. “We applied for a portkey, but we never told anyone in Beijing ‘hey, while we’re here we might just nip up to Xinjiang and obliterate a malignant magical being on Chinese soil. Cheers.’”

“Do you think they have some kind of boggart hunter’s license?” Malfoy drawled snidely.

“It’s not like we’re MI6,” I snapped, “with Her Majesty’s License to Kill.”

“What are you on about now?” He groaned, rolling his eyes exasperatedly.

“First Sherlock Holmes, and now James Bond,” I pretended horror, clutching my chest. “We have to draw up an English pop-culture syllabus for you when we get home.”

“Ignoring your inanity for a moment,” he huffed, “who cares about Beijing? It’s thousands of miles away. They didn’t know just in Urumqi that this village even exists.”

“True,” I capitulated with a small amount of relief. I knew we had to deal with this boggart for the peace of these lovely people who had made us so welcome.

“Brass tacks then,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “We’ll need to go at night to avoid being seen. Moonset will be around two AM, and it should be about half waxed, giving sufficient light to travel, as long as this fog continues to clear. We should probably head out before midnight to give enough time for the hike in the dark.”

“You memorised the lunar calendar?” Malfoy stared at me.

“It seemed prudent, as we came here believing that we would find a werewolf.” I could hear a touch of my own defensiveness and winced internally.

“But you memorised it. Before we left England. And you can recall it like that,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He looked somehow crestfallen at this discovery. I waited for further comment but none came.

“So,” I wrung my hands nervously, “do you agree to the plan?”

“Oh,” his voice was listless. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

This did not bode well.

 

 

We both dressed rather melodramatically in all black. I disillusioned us for the escape from the house, but not even a single dog barked at our skulking as we tiptoed through the village to the pass. The skies had cleared and the moon shone in perfect helpfulness over the horizon.

“So,” Malfoy said as we stopped at the top of the hill at the entrance to the pass.

“So,” I echoed.

“I’ll go first,” he said.

“Okay,” I agreed.

“Okay.”

We didn’t move.

“Unless you want to...” he offered casually.

“I’ll cover you,” I assured him, casting my wandlight up the path.

“Right,” his voice steadied and he cast his own Lumos, leading me bravely forward.

All too soon the path curved and the shadowed bend appeared before us. The malevolent dark magic felt magnified by the eerie moonlight.

“Lumos Maxima,” I intoned boldly. The spell expanded in the confined space and suddenly a misty form began to solidify in front of Draco 

“Shit,” he swore though gritted teeth. He seemed frozen in a duelling stance as the apparition took shape. It looked to me like a corpse, floating face up in mid air, arms outstretched as though bound, and stringy mats of blood-soaked blonde hair dangling down.

My horrified thoughts sprang to Narcissa, but then the figure spoke.

“Severus,” she rasped in an echoey memory of Professor Burbage, “Severus, please.”

I gasped on a sob, but Draco still hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Draco!” Her head lolled as she pleaded, “please Draco!”

I lurched forward the same instant that Draco straightened.

“Ri-ridikkulus!” He stammered, but instead of dissolving, the boggart spun in a swirl of black and swooped at me.

“Hello, Pet,” Fenrir Greyback reached out with bloodied yellow fingernails towards my throat. “I didn’t get to finish my fun with you last time, now did...”

“We already killed you once,” I spat fiercely, “Ridikkulus!” I forced a laugh and the werewolf shrank into a limp hand puppet on the ground.

“Reducto!” Draco blasted the puppet with a jet of red, exploding the ground under it into a cloud of gravel and dust.

“Ef...eff...effective,” I choked, waving a hand in front of my face to clear the air. We examined the crater he’d made where the boggart had been. The boggart had clearly shuffled off this mortal coil, and the path was an ordinary moonlit mountain pass once again.

“Well done!” I told Draco enthusiastically. I felt a giddy wave of relief flow through me.

“Well done?” He looked incredulous.

“That was a bit anticlimactic, I suppose,” I babbled happily, “but only two rounds and we finished it!”

“Yeah.” He still looked confunded, so I took his arm in mine and steered him down the path, much as Yusup had done to me a day earlier.

We descended to the mouth of the pass before Malfoy made another sound.

“Have you dealt with many boggarts?” he asked dazedly.

“Not really,” I admitted.

“Oh.” He let me lead him over to a flat boulder and pull him down to sit next to me.

The moon had nearly set and, deciding to try distraction tactics, I pointed to the north at the sparkling sky.

“It’s so clear now you can see _Draco_.” I nudged him playfully, tracing out the faint, twisting constellation.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, eyeing him in the darkness, “It is a bit dim though, isn’t it?”

“Ha!” He barked, elbowing me back, “and where’s your constellation then, cheeky?”

“You’ll have to name a star for me, if you like,” I sighed again with feigned regret.

“How could I pick just one?”

My breath caught. He was turned halfway to me, his tone still teasing. What did that mean? And that look. It felt so...so...intimate, the slant of his gaze, deliberate yet wary.

I realised at the same time that my hand, which I had placed on his arm to coax him down the mountain, had never left the warm wool of his jacket sleeve. I jerked back, tucking my chilled fingers under my armpits. Armour up, Hermione.

“I...” there were a dozen questions on my lips, but now Malfoy was back—spine ramrod straight, pointed chin tilted. The cold desert wind lifted his smooth hair, ruffling a forelock over his pale brow, perfect for brushing back affectionately into place. “I’m getting cold,” I said, standing abruptly.

“Well,” Malfoy drawled slowly, “we’re done here, aren’t we.”

I flicked my wand to warm us both with a mild charm, then looked up to take in the brilliant sky one more time.

“Yes.”

           ~•~  ~•~  ~•~

“Those who do good by stealth,” would have to be our motto. There did not seem to be a reasonable way to explain to the village that we had eradicated their pesky wolf without producing physical evidence. Malfoy told Yusup that we hadn’t seen the wolf in all our exploration (true) and that it seemed to be gone for good (also, hopefully, true). We bade goodbye to Nur and Yusup and then Reyhan and her busy brood, and then boarded the semi-weekly train back down the mountain.

Once again I settled back against the faded plush cushions with my Shakespeare. The windows were shut tight this time to bar the hot grit of another sandstorm up from the plain. The elderly individual sharing our compartment this trip was a tiny lady with a roll of fabric tucked under her arm.

“This is meant for you,” she spoke abruptly, startling me from my reading. I looked up to see a silver comb proffered on her wrinkled, outstretched palm.

“How lovely,” I admired honestly. The long teeth supported a slender silver dragon. Its eyes looked like tiny chips of emerald and its mouth laughed in a grin of glittering garnet. She leaned across the compartment and slid it into my hair.

“Oh,” I protested, “I can’t possibly.” The comb was heavy, and heavy silver meant expensive.

“It suits you.” She smiled, but I drew the comb reluctantly from my curls.

“I can’t afford it,” I said firmly, handing it back with a twinge of sadness. The dragon looked positively alive, and just so, so Chinese.

“You should buy it,” Draco stretched awake next to me, “to remind you of our time together.” He smirked annoyingly.

“I can’t afford it,” I repeated, in English, with a bite of irritation.

“Shame,” he yawned, and shut his eyes again

 

 

 

 


	8. Thou Canst Not Then be False

September 19, 2003: London

"Happy Birthday, Ms. Granger."

"Yeah, Happy Birthday Hermione!"

It felt strange to be walking down the halls of the Ministry this way so casually, so normally, on my 24th birthday.

China had widened my world, in a way, and the little microcosm of Wizarding London suddenly felt stiflingly narrow. Everyone knew me, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's best friend and a war heroine. That was all they felt they needed to know about me.

But I had just been in a world where I wasn't a minor celebrity, I was just an English girl traveling the wide world, and Draco Malfoy wasn't a reforming ex-Death Eater. He was just a guy who'd happily play a game of football with kids in that dusty track in China.

Even my previously perfectly adequate office felt small. I wished I had a real window.

But still.

On my desk there were several small presents sent from various coworkers. A bouquet of sunflowers from Harry, or more likely Ginny, brightened one corner of my little space, and I was happy.

"Er, Happy Birthday 'Mione.” Ron peeked his head around my open doorway. The tips of his flaming hair seemed to be smoking slightly. He saw my alarmed expression and patted his head with a grin."The healers said it should stop in a few hours," he assured me confidently, "but I'd better run. See ya tonight."

"Yeah," I said to the empty doorway as he dashed off leaving a faintly burnt aroma in his wake.

Standing next to my chair I picked up a random card from the small pile on my desk and opened it distractedly. It contained bland sentiments of well-wishes in a stranger's writing, but the words were kind.

"I got another owl from Lisbon."

I looked up from my card. Malfoy leaned lazily against the doorframe. His eyes flitted over my crowded desk to the flowers and back to me.

"Yes,” I concurred, "they seem fairly insistent. I thought that they had decided to work with the French, but I suppose they liked our proposal best."

He raised an eyebrow at me but I didn't understand the minute gesture.

"Do you have time to work on that this afternoon?" I asked, "Harry said something yesterday about..."

"Yes," he cut in, "I do have a meeting at Gringotts, but I should be back by noon." He smoothed down his already immaculate robes and tweaked one cuff, but aside from those small signs of nervousness he looked completely composed. Except he wouldn't meet my eye.

"Well," I took a breath, "good luck then."

"Yes," he turned away determinedly and I could hear the steady tap of his best oxfords receding down the hallway.

"Yikes!" Amy scurried into my office, her face glowing with excitement, "what's got his wand in a knot?"

I hesitated and she barrelled on.

"I heard he's going down to Diagon Alley to go rounds with the Gringotts Goblins. Word is that the Malfoys have piles of gold stashed in vaults all around the world and the Ministry is just dying to get their hands on it, you know, as," she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "restitution for Mr. Malfoy's war crimes."

"I really couldn't say," I told her honestly. I had my own ideas about Malfoy's money tangles, but I refused to be caught up in the relentless grind of the Ministry rumour-mill.

The nonsense even went on outside of the Ministry. Malfoy and I had lately been accosted by a Daily Prophet reporter on the steps of the British Library, of all places, and only my threat to wandlessly hex him into a slug, despite the presence of muggles, made him desist in his persistent inquisition regarding the state of the Malfoy fortune.

Malfoy himself never brought up the subject.

"So," Amy swiftly changed topics, "I heard you are having a big birthday do in town and your muggle friends are coming down from Oxford?"

She clearly wanted details. It never failed to amaze my co-workers that I had kept non-magic friends while continuing to fully embrace the magical world.

"Yes," I gave in, "just a couple of fellow former students and a professor and his wife. It's not a big deal though..."

"Do they ever realise that you're, you know, different?"

Her eyes were shining with intense interest.

"I don't know," I smiled, "but people in Oxford are a little different anyway, so it's a bit boring if you're not as well. I tell everyone that I work in Government, and that usually shuts them right up asking questions."

"Hmm." Amy shook her head bemusedly. “It would be beyond me to do that balancing act. Well, have a Happy Birthday."

She plunked a fat parcel on my desk and darted out, snagging the arm of a passing Auror. I heard her murmur "Malfoy," and a hushed "no, really?"

I flicked my wand at the door to gently shut it and then plopped down in my chair. I slowly peeled away the plain brown paper from the package that Amy had delivered, twining the string absently around my finger. I broke the Hogwarts seal from the top andremoved the short missive inside.

 

_"I hope you continue to have no need for this but I saw a picture of you in the Prophet and you looked a bit peaky so I thought I'd send this along, just in case. Hoping you are well, my dear, and celebrating a very Happy Birthday._

 

_Respectfully,_

 

_P. Pomfrey"_

 

I unwrapped the final layer of paper to find a small vial of glowing golden potion. The glass of the vial itself felt warm, and the potion swirled slowly like sunshine on a quiet pond. I wrapped my fingers gratefully around it, relief flooding my body.

Madam Pomfrey, one of Hogwarts' most trusted secret keepers, had a keen nose for a student, or in my case, former student in need of her aid. She had somehow known from one flashing photo in the paper that I was poorly when nobody close to me had noticed anything.

I uncorked the vial and drank a careful mouthful. It tasted distinctly like honey and apricot with none of the awful aftertaste I remembered from the dozens of times I had taken it fifth year after the horrible debacle in the Department of Mysteries. Madam Pomfrey had deduced that the association of the awful taste with the even worse memories of the initial curse, made me reluctant to take it. She had carefully worked to perfect it over the last seven years and occasionally sent me a test batch.

I could feel the pleasant warmth of the potion calming the knot in my stomach.The mere knowledge that the potion would eventually release the anxious tension that surfaced every so often, an after-effect of Dolohov's unknown spell combined with the later infliction of the Cruciatus Curse, increased the potency of the brew.

I settled back in my chair and, pushing aside my unopened presents, drew from my desk drawer a pen and the Lisbon file and got to work.

     ~•~ ~•~ ~•~

_"People don't change just because you find out more about them."_

Where had I heard that saying?

The clock on my desk read 4:30 and I had seen neither hide nor hair of Malfoy all afternoon. My hand had cramped from hours of note taking, and my neck ached from bending over dusty books, struggling to read the crabbed text and simultaneously translate the Portuguese that was jumbled together with arcane magical language.

Despite Malfoy's normally constant interrupting, I usually found it easier to work with him than alone. I could bounce ideas off him and ask questions about translations instead of interrupting my train of thought to scrabble through a dictionary or syllabary, more often than not getting distracted by a new idea as I flipped through the pages.

I hadn't lost the knack of studying alone, really I hadn't, but wasn't the point of having a partner to work together on a project?

I tucked a quill to mark my place and shut the heavy book in front of me. I stared at the aged leather cover with its faded title.

I had at least thought that the days of Malfoy completely letting me down had passed. Why had he even come to the Ministry this morning at all? Why not just go to the meeting and avoid making me any promise to return? I blew a wayward curl from my forehead and, reaching for my stack of presents, finally succumbed to temptation.

There were tokens from Luna and then Neville among the pile of gifts from my coworkers. There were notes and thoughtful cards.

Madam Pomfrey's potion, now half gone, I hid inside my robes. The rest of my presents I swept into my hip bag. I tucked the sunflowers under one arm and exited my office.

"Hermione!" Harry strode towards me with a grin, "Happy Birthday!"

He hugged me, slightly awkwardly due to my vase of flowers. "Sorry I hadn't had a chance to get away till now." He did look a bit frazzled, but suspiciously buoyant.

"Is something up?" I asked, shifting my bag on my shoulder.

"Er, no, well," he was definitely prevaricating, "uh, would it be okay to meet at the pub instead of ours first? Ginny, um, had something this afternoon and won't be home as early as we thought."

"Okay.” I narrowed my eyes at him. That stupid grin was back and alarm bells began chiming in my head. I poked him hard in the chest.

"If this is what I think it is," I whispered fiercely, "you had better tell me tonight. I don't want to be wondering all weekend."

"You'll be the first, er, maybe second to know," he vowed. I couldn't help grinning to match him. He practically sprinted off back to his office and I made my way to the lift, my own steps feeling suddenly light.

~•~~•~~•~

The London pub was warmly lit and the rowdy strains of a live band streamed from the open doorway. I stood outside with my friends Mona and Peter, and Helene and her husband John. Helene and Mona were passionately discussing the problems of parking in Oxford, while Peter finished his cigarette. Harry, Ginny, Ron and Jemma were expected within minutes, which was good since a light drizzle had begun just beyond the cover of the overhang where we waited.

"Of course I did," Ginny's voice was loud from around the corner of the pub. “What do you expe--"

"Malfoy though?" Ron practically shouted. “He wouldn't even dream of setting foot in Muggle London."

"Well he said he's coming," Ginny snapped, "so you can just grow up Ron Weasley."

"Bet he's huddled up in the Manor with a bottle of Ogden's after a day dealing with those Gringotts goblins," Ron snorted as they rounded the corner. His smirk changed to a grimace of guilt when he saw us all standing in front of the pub, well within earshot.

Harry had his arm around Ginny's waist and was sporting an even wider grin than earlier. Ginny was glaring at Ron, but leaned comfortably into her husband's shoulder.

Ron scuttled past me, dragging Jemma into the pub.

"Happy Birthday," she said quickly as she was whisked by. The rest of the group automatically followed them, but I grabbed Ginny's arm.

"Well?" I asked, fully knowing the answer.

"You told!" Ginny whirled, punching Harry hard in the arm.

"Ow! No I didn't!" He protested, ducking away as she raised her fist again, intent on more violence.

"Stop!" I laughed, grabbing her hand and pulling her into a hug. "I'm a very good guesser, and you are practically glowing."

"I'm so happy Hermione!" She hugged me back. "I didn't want to hijack your birthday though, so I've only told Mum. Ron's oblivious, of course."

"It's the best birthday news I could hope for," I sighed. “You're having a baby! I want to hear all about it."

"Well," she tucked an arm through mine as Harry made his way into the pub before us, "when a man and a woman are in love..." She smirked at me wickedly.

"Ginevra Weas-Potter!" I laughed again, shoving her gently. She looked past me into the crowded pub.

"Is Malfoy here?"

"No," I said, "I don't think so."

"Huh," she looked annoyed and slightly disappointed.

"What made you think-"

"Here is the birthday girl!" Helene announced to the entire pub, packed with people. She jammed a ridiculous tiara on my head and pulled me over to the bar.

     ~•~ ~•~ ~•~

"He doesn't even like football," Helene shook her head over her white wine. “It is just an excuse to shout at the, how do you say, Telly, like he wishes to shout at his students." She swallowed the last gulp of wine and then looked sadly at her empty glass.

"It's okay," I said sincerely. After a pint and two glasses of wine myself I felt rather floaty and agreeable. The "boys" had found a match on the enormous screen in the upstairs of the pub, leaving us girls to chat happily in a cozy booth.

"I know it is your birthday Hermione," Helene said seriously, "but I think that it would be very very good if we had some ticky...stoffee...ticky...It's English," she looked helplessly at the completely sober Ginny who seemed to be hiding a smile at our antics. I felt totally normal, myself.

"Ticky..." Helene tried again. “How many of these have I had?" She held up her glass to Mona who was leaning comfortably back in the corner.

"I dunno," Mona replied. “At least three and that bloody awful shot you made us do."

"Right," Helene folded her arms on the table and then lay her cheek on them.

"Sticky Toffee Pudding?" I suggested. That did sound good, actually.

"That's it!" Helene confirmed. She raised her head and kissed me soundly on the cheek. “You are very very smart, and beautiful. Whatever happened with that gorgeous man you had? Muffin, was it? Where is he tonight?"

"There's a place around the corner that does desserts and is probably still open," I said hastily, shoving Helene out of the booth. 

"I've got to run," Jemma said apologetically as we rose. "I've got a shift at St. Mun-er, the hospital tomorrow. I'll just go up and tell Ron."

"Thanks for coming," I said over my shoulder as I was dragged out of the pub into the misty darkness.

The streets were relatively quiet for a Friday night and the smell of cool rain on warm pavements permeated the air.

Helene and Mona walked ahead, arm in arm, discussing the use of real bells in church towers instead of a recording of bells, a subject near and dear to Mona's heart. Helene would argue any point on any subject, merely to hear the sound of her own voice. We strolled past a fancy Italian restaurant that buzzed busily, wafting delicious aromas and soft music.

Ginny took my hand chummily as we walked, swinging it between us.

"I'll be able to blame all my grumpiness on hormones now," she remarked cheerfully. “At least that's what Fleur did with Victoire."

"You're not grumpy," I said. She spun me in a pirouette under her arm.

"Sometimes when the person you have sworn to love above all else in the world, the saviour of the wizarding world, in fact, and your absolute best friend, forgets to take out the rubbish three weeks in a row, the mildest of women might have a little grump," Ginny said wisely.

"Very profound," I said, "although," I lowered my voice, "you are a witch, so..."

"It's the principle of the thing," she sniffed.

"Hermione," Helene called from in front of the cafe window that was our destination. “They have chocolate gateau and so now I must decide. It is very very difficult." She looked at me mournfully. All ups and downs, tipsy Helene.

"We could order four things and split?" The heavenly scents coming from the cafe drew us to the door and I let Ginny go in after Mona and Helene. As I held the swinging glass door open for them, a movement back up the sidewalk caught my eye.

A small group was leaving the Italian restaurant, talking briskly in low tones, but the flash of his white-blond head stood out above his dark jacket. A woman I didn't know, with wavy shoulder length brown hair, tucked her arm through his while he spoke to Blaise Zabini and a petite redhead who I thought I recognised from International Magical Cooperation.

I couldn't make my feet move. I was willing them to unstick as urgently as I was willing him not to turn his head just the slightest degree and see me standing there, gawping like a ninny.

"What the hell?" Ginny was loudly back, her gaze following mine. “Oh. My. What the...?" She looked furious and had both hands on her hips in very Molly-esque fashion.

"The little ferret," she hissed.

"Shhhh!" I shoved her, trying desperately now to get through the doorway, but she blocked it completely.

Too late. Malfoy glanced up and met my frantic gaze. I was suddenly aware that my hand had instinctively traveled to check for my wand up my sleeve, defensive. He looked away just as quickly, dismissively, and I finally squeezed past Ginny into the warmth of the cafe.

"Please don't," I said, grabbing Ginny's arm and tugging her inside.

"I can't believe it," she fumed, stomping over to the counter where Mona and Helene were scrutinising the menu. "After everything. After all that!"

Mystified, I tried to focus.

"Sticky Toffee Pudding, please."

~•~~•~~•~

Alone, my dark flat felt chilly and damp and empty. It had been a nice birthday. I knew Molly would have an extravagant meal and cake for me on Sunday at the Burrow. I would go to Grimmauld Place in the morning for Ginny's "famous" French toast, and she wanted me to help her learn her new mobile so that we could call each other and chat about the baby.

It was a nice birthday, full of good friends and good food.

And yet, there was that tiny little pinprick of hurt that threatened to spoil it all.

I lay back on my sofa with the lights off, my legs over the arm, watching the shadows of the rain on the window. Sometimes I longed for the total blackness of nights at Hogwarts without streetlights and glowing signs to intrude.

 _Tap tap tap_ , impatient on my window. A huge shadow swooped down to perch on the narrow sill. Leaping up, I let the owl in, ducking as he landed on my reading chair and floofed his feathers, showering me with rain. He held out a small package with one talon, dropping it into the hand I extended.

Its wrapping felt like fine silk, almost alive, and I had a horrid thought that whatever this strange, regal owl was delivering, it might be dangerous. I hesitated a moment, but the owl stared at me in the gloom, clacking its beak imperiously, and I decided I didn't care. I sat back down.

The wrapping was actually a beautiful green scarf, almost like spun emeralds, and I ran it across my palm in fascination, savouring the luxurious feeling. As the scarf unwound I could tell that whatever it contained, though very small, was heavy for its size. The object plopped unexpectedly onto my lap in a glint of silver.

I turned the comb over in my hand and the laughing, green-eyed Chinese dragon grinned up at me, its brilliant red mouth glowing like embers in the dim light.

 

 


	9. Their Exits and Their Entrances

October 24, 2003: London

"Have you decided what you're going to be?" Amy sidled into my office, her dark eyes shrewd.

"Since when did Halloween become a thing?" I deflected. A fancy-dress party did sound fun, but the prospect of wearing a lurid cat costume, or something equally ridiculous, in front of my coworkers gave me pause.

"Come on." Amy rolled her eyes at me. “Just charm on some wings and be a pixie or something. It's about looking good and eating sweets. You don't always have to over analyse everything."

Don't I? I folded back the page of the Prophet that I had been reading. Ginny's first article as the paper's Quidditch correspondent was quite good, which I already knew since I had helped her put the final touches on it. Seeing it in actual print alongside the blurry photo of two seekers colliding mid-air made me feel a happy glow of pride for my friend.

But would people guess the reason she had stopped playing before she and Harry were ready to announce their news? Way to over analyse like a champ, Hermione.

"I might go as a mad scientist," I suggested. "I've got the lab coat and frizzy hair already."

"Your hair's gorgeous now," Amy snorted with an irritated wave. “Ask anyone. I'd kill for curls like yours."

I sat back in my chair in surprise.

"Thanks?"

"Anyway," she sashayed her hips as she turned to leave. "I'm going to be a naughty nurse and see if I can't find myself a certain tall blond patient who needs my attention."

I knew my mouth was hanging open unattractively as I stared at the now empty doorway.

Not empty for long.

"You want to grab some lunch before we head to the BL?" Malfoy popped around the corner. His smug grin made me suspect that he had overheard Amy's parting comment.

"Okay." I stood and gathered my neglected Lisbon file, tucking it carefully next to the thick book inside my hip bag then slinging it over my shoulder. I knew I couldn't hide the blush that heated my cheeks at Malfoy's pleased expression.

"I can take that," Malfoy offered, reaching for the strap of my heavy satchel.

"No," I said stubbornly. “No thanks, I'm okay." I shifted the strap so it didn't dig as painfully across my shoulder. I looked up in time to see a flash of annoyance cross his face.

"So the first major phase of the categorisation seems to be going well," I said hurriedly as we moved together toward the lift. "Lisbon's librarian wrote me again asking that we come oversee the reorganisation personally once their construction has finished."

"Sure," he said stiffly, "but I think that's a long way off, judging by the glacial pace they've exhibited so far."

"You said it," I smiled tentatively. “And I thought the bureaucracy _here_ was mind numbing."

"Try dealing with the bankers on one side and government on the other," he smiled back, relaxing his shoulders, "the paperwork would make a house elf cringe."

"Don't get me started on house elves," I teased.

He threw up his hands in mock surrender, then reached across me to tap the button for the lift.

But before he could hit it the doors slid open and Narcissa Malfoy stepped out. She wore imposing grey robes, and her hair gleamed in a perfect silvery sheet down her back. Her icy gaze drew smoothly across me to pierce her smiling son. His grin faded instantly to be replaced by a hard scowl. Narcissa stalked past us and then cleared her throat in both a summons and a dismissal.

Draco hesitated for half a heartbeat and then turned to me and spoke politely.

"You don't have to wait for me.” His tone was businesslike, but he kept his back purposefully to his mother. I searched his face quickly and decided.

"I'm not in a rush," I said with deliberate obtuseness. “We can go down together." I raised my eyebrows at him and the corner of his mouth lifted a fraction. He turned smoothly and marched over to Narcissa. She was glaring daggers at me, one hand on her slim hip.

I faked a yawn and studied my nails in a bored fashion. I even leaned back against the wall next to the lift, feeling internally about as sanguine as a Christian martyr dangling a steak in the face of the caged lion.

It was impossible to hear the entirety of their hushed conversation, but I caught snippets.

"...responsibility," Narcissa hissed.

"...important to me Mother," Draco hissed back.

"Your father..." Narcissa began, louder. Heads were popping around the corners of cubicles now.

"I'm not responsible for his mistakes," Draco said with finality, "I made plenty of my own, I'm paying for them, and I already told you I'm busy today. I took care of as much as I could. The lawyers have everything under control and I will not be there."

He spun and marched back to me, slapping the call button with a smack.

It was possibly the longest seven and a half seconds of my life, standing with my back to a fuming Narcissa, waiting for the lift with a shaking Draco Malfoy. When it finally dinged open I almost fell inside in relief. I punched the Atrium button before Draco had even made it completely through the door.

I snuck a glance up at him as the doors shut. He didn't look angry like I expected. Just those two telltale slashes of red on his cheeksgave him away.

I shifted my satchel from one aching arm to the other, the tension sizzling the air.

"Give me that," he snapped, making me jump.

I looked up to decline again, but his expression left no room for argument. I silently handed him the bag and he shouldered it with a triumphant smirk. He was pleased with himself but not arrogant, just satisfied. It looked good on him.

 


	10. To One Thing Constant Never

 

November 5, 2003: London

It was only Wednesday but already this week felt about ten days long. I was sitting on the rug in my flat with stacks of books and a cold mug of tea on the coffee table next to me. Reams of parchment covered most of the floor except for the path that Malfoy had cleared between our work and the kitchen. He stood next to my expansive bookcase, tipping books halfway off the shelf and then shoving them back with rather more force than I appreciated.

"If you don't stop fidgeting and come help me we'll never be done with this," I snapped. I could feel the hairpins working out of my neglected French twist and I stuck a spare quill through the mess with a practiced jab.

Malfoy left the books alone for a moment and sat down on the floor across from me. He began flipping through the sheets of runes in an irritated manner but didn't say a word. I craned my neck to consult the open syllabary to my right.

"Do you know what this rune is?" I asked, holding up a scrap of worn parchment. I turned back to see Malfoy glaring at me with such malevolence that I felt a tiny thrill of fear at the power in his expression. He didn't answer but snatched the paper in question from my hand with a huff.

He had been like this for nearly a week now, since the Halloween party I'd been too busy to attend, and it was getting on my last nerve. Our ongoing Lisbon project had collided heavily with an urgent translation assignment from the Department of Mysteries that couldn't be ignored. Despite the terrible timing, turning down a legitimate Ministry request was out of the question. We didn't want Unspeakables suddenly wondering if maybe we weren't a bit of a law unto ourselves with our quasi-sanctioned, personally selected "missions."

With Ministry workers constantly popping into my office unannounced and an endless stream of owls from Portugal, "on edge" didn't even begin to describe the tension. Hence, the attempt at some peace and quiet by bringing everything home.

"It looks old, but I can't place it.” I tried to keep my voice light despite the daggers shooting from Malfoy's steely eyes. He tossed the paper down with a snort.

"What the hell is your prob--oh!" I yelped. "Oh for heaven's sake!" We both leapt up as two owls swooped in my open window, one after the other. The first dropped a heavy packet on my sofa and then promptly swooped out again. The second landed lightly on the arm of my reading chair and politely held out a leg to have her letter removed.

The packet on the sofa was sealed with the mark of the Lisbon library. I recognised the second owl and knew it carried a private correspondence, but Malfoy reached it first.

"Don't," I choked out, but he was already removing the rolled letter with a nasty smirk.

"I said don't!" I flicked my wand and the letter zoomed to me across the room.

"Shit," Malfoy spat, shaking the hand that probably smarted from the force of my spell. He rounded on me but I'd had enough.

"Don't you even start." I could feel my hair crackling with repressed magic. The stress caused by his foul mood along with our increased workload felt like an ugly fire that threatened to burn me up. I was ready to let it out.

"I don't know what is going on with you," I snapped, keeping my wand pointed at his face, "but if you think for one second that you can start bullying me and I'll put up with it like I had to at school, well, you can think again. We've promised to have both of these assignments done by the 14th, and I intend to keep my promise. If you can't or won't do your part then you might as well just leave now."

He stood there, framed by the dark sky out the open window, chest heaving and hands clenched at his sides. He looked suddenly very young in his muggle T-shirt and snug jeans with his hair ruffled in uncharacteristic disarray. Twin slashes of red stained his white cheekbones. I could practically feel his magic sparking. I knew he wanted to reach for his own wand, to respond, but I didn't know why.

Or why he didn't do it.

"Fine,” he bit out. The word cut across the space between us. "Fine," he repeated, moving at last. He stalked around the outside of the room to avoid the scattered parchments and gathered his coat and rucksack from the back of the sofa.

I stared in disbelief as he shrugged into his jacket. I could see his hand shaking as he tried to join the zip at the bottom. I suppressed a sudden urge to move to help him.

"Hermione?"

Malfoy and I both spun to face the fireplace where a low fire had been burning all evening to counteract the chill of the open window.

"You there Hermione?" Harry could just step through the floo at any time without invitation, but he always gave the courtesy of calling first.

"Yes," I said, determined to keep my voice even. “You can come through." 

A moment later, with a swirl of green flame, Harry stumbled out of the low fireplace, stamping ash off on the hearth rug and shaking out his Ministry robes.

"Hey," he began, then noticed Malfoy by the door and my wand still raised in my hand.

He froze awkwardly, mid robe shake.

"Er, everything okay?"

I lowered my wand as casually as I could.

"You need something?" I asked tightly. "Only there's a mountain of work here that wants attending." I tried to keep my voice neutral but Harry, this tall, grownup Harry, searched my face in concern.

"You missed your meeting," he said, glancing sideways at Malfoy.

"What?" I stared at him blankly as my mind reeled. I had cleared every regular weekly committee meeting or lecture from my calendar to devote all my time to our projects. My projects.

"Er," Harry flattened his messy black hair nervously with one hand while loosening the collar of his robes with the other. He glanced around again at the state of my flat. "The, er, six month review meeting," he said, tilting his head significantly at Malfoy. "It was this afternoon but no one could find you."

"That was the idea! I was here, working on this ridiculous project that should have been done right the first time if the idiots in the DoM weren't such a bunch of bumbling..."

"Do you want to reschedule?" Harry interrupted hastily, backing toward the fireplace.

"Does it LOOK like I have time to reschedule something that asinine right now?" I snapped. Purple sparks sizzled from the end of my wand and we all looked at it in alarm.Knowing I'd made a mistake always turned me slightly unreasonable. I took a calming breath and grit my teeth.

"You haven't been messing with time-turners again, have you?" Harry was grinning now and definitely making an attempt at escape.

"And have to spend twice the time at the Ministry?" I shot back. "Not a chance."

"So I'll tell Kingsley you're fine with another six months." Harry scooped up a handful of floo powder and ducked into the fireplace. "Number twelve Grimmauld Place!" He commanded the floo. Then to me, "andyoulooklikePocahontas."

I aimed a stinging hex at him but he'd disappeared in another swirl of soot and green flame. I looked up at my reflection in the mirror over the mantle to see that the quill in my hair was indeed standing straight up like an Indian's feather. I pulled it out along with the ineffectual hairpins and immediately felt a hundred times better as my curls tumbled loosely down.

 _Boom_! An echoing blast sounded outside the window, followed by shrieks and laughing squeals.

"Oh!" I said, hurrying to look, "it's Bonfire Night, isn't it?" I turned back to face Malfoy as a firework lit the sky with a shower of gold and another boom.

His expression was so intense that I almost raised my wand protectively again. He slowly zipped up his jacket and swung his rucksack onto his back.

"I'll," he began, then cleared his throat, looking past me now at the night sky, "I'll go get us a pizza."

"Ah, okay," I said, wrong-footed. Another firework blasted outside, followed by the scream of a rocket.

"Be careful?" I offered. He looked at me sharply.

"And...and," I stammered, trying to regain ground, "no mu--"

"No mushrooms, I know," he rolled his eyes and reached for the door handle. "I'll be right back."

The door clicked shut behind him and I sank down in my reading chair, my legs too wobbly to support me. I pulled my knees up under my chin and unrolled the letter I had crushed, forgotten in my left hand. It was from Sami Naasan, as I had known. I tucked it, unread, into the pocket of my shirt, and watched the delivery owl as she hopped daintily down and began sipping from my mug of tea.

"Oh," I told her as the pieces fell together in my brain, "Merlin’s pants."


	11. Speak Less Than Thou Knowest

December 19, 2003: London

Christmas Spirit ran rampant through the halls of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. In fact, it practically galloped. Amy had gone berserk decorating with enchanted mistletoe, which meant one had to keep a strict eye overhead when passing others between the cubicles, especially near the lift.

Boughs of holly draped festively across any and every flat surface, affixed with a seriously strong sticking charm that resisted casual attempts to remove it. A pixie-infested Christmas tree took up half of the break room.

I loved the Christmas season with all the carols, gatherings, cozy fires, and general friendliness, but I slightly dreaded it as well. It meant a trip to visit my parents in Australia. The prospect, while exciting and welcome, also filled me with a guilty leadenness.

"Next Christmas we'll be back in England," Mum had chirped cheerfully over the phone. She'd said the same thing the year before and the year before.

My fault. My fault.

The Ministry, fulfilling what seemed to be their prime objective of 2003, had planned a Christmas party to "promote magical togetherness," or in reality, "promote drinking to excess until you can stand your co-workers for at least the one night a year."

My real problem now was that I'd let Ginny get the bit between her teeth back in May. The elegant black dress she'd bullied me into wearing to the Victory Ball had been a little on the daring side, but this tiny red number she'd practically browbeaten me into purchasing was just ridiculous.

The matching high red pumps only added potential injury to insult.

I had brought my outfit to the office knowing full well I'd have no time in the panic of last minute "pre-holiday desk-clearing" to get to my flat and back before the gala began.

So here I was in just my underthings, my office door locked and "colloportused," staring at the scrap of a dress hanging from my bookshelf.The top half was alright with a simple flirtatious sweetheart neckline and pretty cap sleeves, but in the skirt, or lack thereof, lay my problem.

Maybe it wouldn't be so intimidating once on. I had, after all, liked it well enough in the shop to let Ginny convince me to take the plunge.

Shimmying into the snug garment took some awkward wriggling, but finally I managed to straighten the shoulders and get everything where it was meant to be. In the small mirror over my coat hooks I could tell that the deep red did look pretty nice against my dark hair, but the bright flush caused by my struggles that spread blotchily across my face did nothing for me.

Glancing down, the skirt definitely did not pass my mum's "fingertip test," but all the necessary bits were well covered, if hugged a little presumptuously by the silky fabric.

The red pumps then.

Nope. Just too much. A quick wand flick and they became a more modest blush colour that didn't make me feel so like a Christmas bauble, all matchy matchy.

A loose French braid over one shoulder and then a swipe of mascara.

Fifteen minutes and done. I wished I had nicer jewellery than my little silver hoop earrings and locket, but I couldn't muster too much vanity. Twisting the simply woven unicorn-hair bracelet Hagrid had sent as my Christmas present, I decided to keep it on my wrist for courage.

It was almost a decade since that Hogwarts Yule Ball when everything had seemed so shiningly important. Going with sweet Viktor who had noticed plain old "know-it-all" Hermione Granger before anyone else. Agonising over dance steps and hair products like a normal teenager. Basking in the glow of appreciation and savouring the disbelieving envy of all the other girls.

Viktor was in Bulgaria, still chasing that Snitch, and here I was, twenty minutes late for the drinks and about to go down by myself in a dress designed for a more confident woman than I.

Tucking my wand in the special pocket I'd charmed invisible on my hip, I went.

"Shite," I swore as I ducked behind Ginny. “Oh, please hide me." The move was doubly ineffectual since Ginny stood a good six inches shorter than I did in my precariously high heels, and also Cormac McLaggen had long since spotted me.

"He's already made a beeline," Ginny told me heartlessly, "and anyway, Harry and I are headed home."

"Deserter," I hissed, swatting her arm. “Can't you at least take me with you?"

"No way," Ginny smirked. "Harry and I have hot, sexy plans tonight.” She nudged me teasingly with her hip, one hand on her barely perceptible baby bump.

"Ew," I told her flatly. “Please don't ever say that again."

"Bye bye.” She waggled her fingers and then licked her lips provocatively as she backed away.

I mimed vomiting into my glass of champagne.

"Granger, you're looking awfully ravishing tonight." Cormac swaggered up to me, his wide white smile flashing cockily.

"Thanks," I said, looking pointedly away and not returning the compliment. I might have been willing to give Mr. Snarglauff-hands the benefit of a second chance if he hadn't, at every opportunity since he recently began working in Magical Games and Sports, been leering at me with such disgusting intent. Even from five floors away he managed to find me with annoying frequency, seemingly just to stare down my top and resume the litany of "Cormac's Greatest Quidditch Saves," that he had begun back at Slughorn's party in sixth year.

"Red's definitely your colour, Granger," Cormac smirked, stepping even closer. “Dance with me?"

My feet ached despite my cushioning charms, and I'd already danced twice with Harry and once with a tall Unspeakable whose name I thought might be Bowles, who'd merely grinned down at me, nodding distractedly at my attempts at conversation. More than anything now I just wanted to escape and kick these bloody shoes into the back of my closet.

"I..." Staring frantically around for anyone to rescue me, my gaze fell on Malfoy a mere pillar away. While he lounged against it with his typical nonchalance, his stare was anything but cool. I raised my eyebrows significantly at him, my heart leaping a little in hope. He flicked his gaze at Cormac and then looked away from us with a sneer.

"I--okay," I told Cormac firmly, ignoring the thud of my pulse in my veins.

I barely had time to set down my glass before he spun me confidently out onto the dance floor. He was actually a very good dancer, but his possessive grip and the way his hand kept wandering ever lower down my back made me sorely regret my rash decision. He wasn't even really paying me any attention. He rambled on and on about himself as we danced, and he seemed more interested in making sure everyone saw him with Hermione Granger in his arms than in holding my interest.

"Thanks," I said shortly when the song ended. “That was lovely. I've got to go now."

"I'll take you home," he said eagerly, snatching up my arm again. I yanked it away definitively.

"No, thank you, I'll be fine," I said. He shrugged with a small frown, but didn't protest as I left him.

I made my way towards the lift, thinking longingly of a hot bath and my soft bed. I pushed the call button to take me up. A movement to my right caught my eye and I glanced over to see Malfoy with one arm high up on a pillar, smirking down at a giggling Amy who was sucking on an innocent candy cane in blatant suggestion. She rolled her hips away from the pillar towards him in obvious invitation, her slinky green dress glinting in the shadowy candlelight of their little hidden corner.

I snapped my gaze deliberately back to the lift doors, a roiling sense of loneliness seizing me with cruel awareness.

Did the Ministry lifts operate in direct opposite proportion to the speed at which the waiting user desired for them to get a bloody move on?

When the lift doors finally opened I hurried inside, but not before hearing a distinct shriek of laughter that I knew came from a tipsy Amy.

The DMLE was cold and still and empty. I slipped my heels off as I exited the lift and padded gratefully down the silent hallway to my office. It felt oddly scandalous to be walking around my workplace in bare feet, like something one would only do at home that should be forbidden from a professional environment.

I flicked my wand at my office door to unlock it. My hip bag and a small stack of files to take home lay patiently on my desk. I scooted my bum up next to them with a sigh, knowing that if I sat down in my wide, comfy chair I might not be able to get myself back up.

From the glow of my wand tip I could see the Lisbon file on the top of the stack, and with a stab of irritation remembered that Malfoy hadn't yet given me his own report. That would mean that I'd have to make an extra trip into the office early on Monday to collect it and owl it off before catching my first portkey to Australia.

It was possible that he had finished it and just hadn't handed it in. He was always doing that, to my extreme annoyance, making me take extra time to come check up on him. I slid off my desk with a wince and padded on down the dim hallway to the cubicles.

Tiny lights on the Christmas tree twinkled through the open break room door but the rest of the floor was dark. I turned the corner into Malfoy's cubicle and my wandlight fell across a black figure standing behind his desk.

"Eek!" I yelped eloquently as Malfoy spun around.

"Holy fu-," he began, his wand in his hand. "Shit. Granger. What do you think you're doing?"

"Are...are you alone?" I asked, my face flaming with embarrassment as he flicked on his desk lamp. He sat down casually on the corner of his desk, arms folded.

"Not anymore.” He eyed me up and down, lingering on the expanse of bare legs and feet. "Come to look for the rest of your dress?"

His cold drawl and disdainful judgment hurt more than I'd ever admit.

I could feel the beginning of angry tears stinging the back of my throat. I mirrored him, hugging myself against the chill of this quiet place, resisting the urge to tug down the hem of my short dress.

"I came to see if you'd finished your Lisbon report so that I'd not have to come back in on my holiday to send it off," I tilted my chin and tried to keep my voice steady, but it sounded thick and emotional, even to my own ears, "but if I'd known you were up here, I guess I would have expected to find childish insults instead."

I turned slowly, trying to look like I wasn't running away, but Malfoy leapt in front of me with a bound.

"Shit, Granger," he huffed again, blocking my exit, "I'm...I didn't mean it. You looked stunning tonight. Everyone... Will you just sit down a minute and have a Christmas drink? I'll get my report together for you."

He was so tall. I tried to look up at his face, shadowed above the reach of the lamplight, and felt like a rabbit cornered by a strange dog--unable to read its intentions. I twisted my wand between my fingers.

"Okay," I whispered. I turned again and perched tensely on the edge of a chair while he hurried around to his desk. He pulled out a drawer and I heard the clink of glasses.

"I've got whisky or... whisky, I guess.” He grinned up at me roguishly.

I moaned and sank back in the hard chair, "I suppose whisky then." I crossed one knee over the other with a sigh.

He slid an unnecessarily large tumbler, half filled with amber liquid, across the desk.

"This'll put some hair on your chest.” He smirked.

"That's all I need.” I rolled my eyes and accepted the glass. I took a tentative sip and the lovely warmth of it instantly flooded my body. The taste was fine and smooth, old, like nothing I'd ever had before.

"Mmm," I said appreciatively before I could check myself.

Malfoy's grin widened. He leaned back in his own chair, the broad desk between us. We sipped our drinks slowly in easy silence for several minutes.

"So you're Australia bound," he finally said. The turn of phrase was not lost on me.

"Yes," I confirmed.

"It's summer there," he said.

"Mm hmm."

"And your parents..."

"Right."

"Granger, I..."

"They forgave me, you know," I interrupted, staring at the golden swirls in my glass, "and they're coming back to England."

I looked up at him. His free hand was gripping the arm of his chair so hard I could see the whites of his strained knuckles.

It was the whisky making me talk, not the fact that everyone else, everyone else just didn't understand. _"You did the right thing,"_ they said, _"Hermione, you did what you had to do."_

"They forgave me, and I did it to protect them."

"You obliviated them," Malfoy's voice was low and neutral.

I nodded and swallowed a gulp of whisky, savouring the burn this time.

"Yes. They forgave me after, but it was wrong. It was wrong to take away their choice. I don't blame them for not truly trusting me anymore, and it feels like we can never really go back. I should have told them everything and let them decide. They would have stayed, I know, and tried to protect me, and I couldn't stand that, so I betrayed their trust."

He sat silently, sipping his whisky and staring at the desk.

My limbs were beginning to feel drowsy and heavy, and I let my head droop back over the top of the chair. The lamp cast a halo of light high up above us on the ceiling.

"Well," Malfoy's voice was still steady, "I know all about doing the wrong things for the right reasons. Or what I thought were the right reasons."

I nodded awkwardly against the chair and then pushed myself up on the seat.

"Did you get my present?" I asked, setting my nearly empty glass unsteadily on the desk.

Malfoy opened his desk drawer again and held up the still wrapped package.

"It's a book, isn't it," he feigned disappointment while accepting the bald change of subject.

"Possibly," I hedged.

"A self-help book, I bet," he drawled, mocking the muggle phrase.

Thinking of the inordinate amount of time I'd spent finding that copy of the same beautifully illustrated printing of _The Hobbit_ I'd owned as a child, I hesitated before replying.

"Of a sort, actually," I conceded with a blush. I closed my eyes and set my feet flat on the floor, groaning as I prepared to stand.

"Here," Malfoy was before me, his hand extended expectantly.

My eyes didn't quite want to focus, and my brain wasn't doing much better. Even in the darkness though, I could see his long, strong fingers clearly, as well as a rough callous on his palm from his broomstick because he still loved to fly.

His hand had just begun to drop when I raised my own to take it. He pulled me up, close to him, where it was warm and smelled nice--spicy and grownup, like Christmas and whisky breath. The buttons on his dark shirt gleamed and I pressed a finger to one curiously. He still held my right hand between us, firm, and sure, and...and...

And he was Draco Malfoy, so I stepped back, feeling instantly cold, and withdrew my hand to hug myself again.

"Your report?"

He didn't move for a long moment and I kept my eyes focused on that smooth button. I could stay standing that way.

"Right.” He walked slowly around his desk again and opened that drawer. He pulled out his weekly report, finished and bound neatly in its usual black folder.

"Why do you do that? If it's done, why do you always make me come and ask you for it?" I heaved a frustrated sigh, rubbing a hand over my goose-pimpled arm.

"Too much introspection's bad for the Christmas Spirit, Granger." He brought the report around and held it out to me. I tucked it under my arm.

"You'd better watch out," he added, "you're in a dangerous position right now."

"What?" I stepped back again.

He pointed over my head.

"Mistletoe."

I looked up at the coiling plant in a panic and took two more steps back.

"Well," I stammered, "Happy Christmas. I'll just..."

"Wait," he hurried after me, holding out a folded black lump, "you'll freeze in that getup."

I snapped, "I don't need you to..."

"It's yours, you stubborn witch," he growled impatiently as he shook the jacket out, "you left it in here this morning and I came back up tonight to get it for you."

"Oh." What in the name of Sweet Baby Jesus was happening? "Thanks," I took the jacket across one arm, turning away again, flustered.

"Night Malfoy," I managed over my shoulder. “Have a Happy Christmas."

"You too, Granger."

I made it back to my office without too much wobbling, despite the wall's refusal to stay perfectly straight. I dug out my flats and put them on my tired feet. I tucked Malfoy's report and my other files carefully into my bag and then shrugged on my jacket.

Something heavy in one pocket bumped my hip. That hadn't been there this morning. I reached in slowly and drew out a small package wrapped in silver and tied with a perfect green ribbon. No name, but teasingly Slytherin colours.

I only paused for one indecisive moment, my heart thudding painfully, and then scooped up my bag, locked my office door securely, and jogged back to Malfoy's cubicle.

It was dark and truly empty this time. I spun and jogged to the lift, my bag awkwardly hitting my bum as I ran.

The lift took an age, per usual, and my courage was beginning to fade, along with that sobering spike of adrenaline, when the doors finally slid open to deposit me into the Atrium.

The crowds had thinned, but bunches of people still lingered, drinking and laughing. I didn't see Malfoy's blond head in the throng, but he couldn't have left yet, so hastily.

"Hermione?"

I spun, my heart in my throat.

Amy staggered toward me, her lipstick smeared and her usually smooth bob tellingly mussed. A glass of champagne tipped precariously in her hand.

"Have you seen Malfoy?" she slurred, "he's supposed to take me home now."

Oh.

"I don't know where he is," I said honestly. "Happy Christmas."

I walked carefully to the closest floo, skirting around a loud, drunk huddle of Aurors.

I tossed a pinch of floo powder and stepped into the green flames.

"Home, please."


	12. Screw Your Courage

 

January 24, 2004: London

It was with a sense of satisfaction that I put the finishing touches on my final Lisbon report. The massive tangle of the library's most temperamental books was at last catalogued in a cohesive system and all that remained was for me and Malfoy to go there to implement it once the construction of their new "Sensitive and Highly Incendiary Texts" wing had been completed.

When on Wednesday the haughty owl had delivered the letter revealing the new name of the wing and requesting the particulars of our availability around the middle of February, I'd read it and handed the parchment to Malfoy with juvenile anticipation.

He'd read it quickly and then looked up at me across my desk with a wicked glint in his eye. He smoothed the letter out and crossed his ankle over his knee casually.

"It's S.H.I.T." he said evenly.

"I know," I whispered, biting my thumb to keep it together.

"Six months," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching, "we've been working on this for six months."

"Maybe it was lost in the translation?" I suggested, my own lips curving traitorously.

"Shit.” He was grinning now.

"How can we even tell people?" I despaired.

"They should have gone with 'Flammable and Unstable Chronicles of Knowledge.’” He raised his eyebrows.

I choked. "Technically that'd be 'Inflammable,' so..."

"Then 'I FU-'"

"Malfoy!" I broke, snorting in laughter as he waggled his eyebrows just like Ginny did when she meant to fluster me.

I gasped.

"Oh," I clutched my side as we laughed together, "this is bad timing." It felt like a dull knife was slowly pushing through me.

"What?" He asked, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, still chuckling.

"I..." Nobody but Harry, Ginny, and Madam Pomfrey knew about the residual pain caused by the curse I'd received from Dolohov all those years ago in the Department of Mysteries. Not even Ron realised that I still had occasional stomach cramps that could lay me out for a whole day.

Ginny only knew because she'd been at my flat once when an owl from Hogwarts had delivered a bottle of specially formulated pain potion from Madam Pomfrey.

"It'll go away," I lied. I could probably stand the pain until I made it home. I had at least one dose left in the bathroom in my flat. Why had I stopped carrying it with me?

I closed my eyes, still laughing as I massaged my ribs. When I looked up again, Malfoy was sitting back in his chair stiffly, all trace of amusement gone from his face.

He looked...hurt.

"It..." not sure what to say, I tried for dismissive. "I'll be okay."

"You don't look okay," he snapped. "I’ve noticed this happening before. You've gone all pasty. Pastier than usual."

"That's rich, coming from the palest..." I couldn't continue. My head spun.

"If that's the best comeback you've got, I'm getting you to St. Mungo's.” He sounded on the verge of panic so I knew I must look terrible.

"No," I insisted. He was standing angrily in front of me now.

"If you don't cooperate, Granger," he growled, "I'll tell Molly Weasley that you haven't been taking proper care of yourself." His smirk was triumphant.

"You wouldn't," I challenged.

"I can send an owl as easily as the next person," he reminded me.

"Just help me home?" I asked, my voice excruciatingly small. "I swear I'll tell you everything, and I have a potion there that will fix it."

He hesitated and I knew that I'd won. He wanted to know and his curiosity overrode any misplaced concern.

I stood shakily and reached for my bag. My office faded and I turned and vomited into the rubbish bin.

"Granger..."

"Home," I insisted, vanishing the sick and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. The stab of pain was less now and I could focus and make my feet move.

He shouldered my bag and shut the office door behind me. I made it to the lift feeling more humiliated every second. We descended to the Atrium in silence and he held my elbow as I floo'd us home.

I stumbled out of the fireplace and sank gratefully onto my sofa.

"There's a little golden vial in the bathroom cupboard and there should be a bottle of Dreamless Sleep for later as well.” I kicked off my shoes and pulled my knees against my chest, allowing my head to fall back against the cushions.

The tide of pain was ebbing but the sweat-inducing nausea hovered on its edge. 

Malfoy stomped into the bathroom and returned quickly with both items. I took the little vial eagerly and carefully swallowed half of the one remaining dose. I'd need the other half tomorrow.

"You've been working too hard," Malfoy fumed. "Potter's got you doing too many projects. Other departments need to back off and take care of their own cock-ups for a change and quit counting on you to save their sorry arses every time..."

"I've changed my mind," I groaned, feeling nearly better but wrung out like a dirty dishrag. "Skip the lecture and take me to the hospital, please."

"Granger..."

"And stop saying 'Granger' like you're my Head of House or something. I've only been working as hard as you have and it's nobody's fault that I'm sick but a couple of bloody Death Eaters who are both worm food by now."

He looked stricken, all haughty superiority gone and fear now evident in his silvery eyes.

"Are you sure you want to hear?" I asked softly.

He sat down in my reading chair and nodded.

So I told him. I told him about that horrible scrabble in the DoM, nothing like a real battle, but a terrifying nightmare of corridors and Death. Of Dolohov's curse and of the dozen potions I'd taken for a month after. I told about the worst pain of Harry losing his godfather and the guilt that followed us all from that. I told him about the way the internal pains had returned after my torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange and the way my neck still ached from her Crucio. How the cramps came with no rhyme or reason and I'd learned to deal with them; many people had things much worse

I didn’t tell him how I woke sometimes, sweating in the night, my back arching as I tried to scream at her to stop, my head slamming against the mattress like it had slammed against the fine wool rug on the floor in Malfoy Manor with nobody willing to intervene. I couldn’t quite tell him that.

He sat still in the chair with a stony expression.

"My father was there, at the Ministry."

I nodded, a wave of foreboding sweeping over me.

"Did he ever hurt you?"

I shook my head slowly.

"Never me directly," I didn't hold back, "but plenty of people I care about." My eyes flicked to his covered forearm where I'd seen the faded Dark Mark a hundred times.

 _And there it is_ , I realised, _Draco Malfoy, once worse than a bully to me, now has a place on that list of people._

I struggled to my feet, knowing that if I did what I wanted and curled up alone on the sofa with a blanket over my head I might never get up again.

"Let's get back,” I said. “I'm fine now.”

"Like hell you are," Malfoy jumped up with a snarl. I stepped away, reaching for my wand in my sleeve, a shiver of anger racing through me.

"Don't you dare start treating me like a glass doll now," I spat, furious that I'd bared myself and now he was trying to use that to control me.

"You are the most impossible... Do you always have to be so perfect all the time?" He curled a lip in practiced disdain. "Who do you think will be impressed if you work yourself to death? Want to win the wandering Weasel back? Hoping McLaggen will keep sniffing around the swotty Gryffindor Princess as long as she can keep her perfect shiny tiara perfectly straight?"

"What makes you think," I was shocked by how calm I sounded, "that you could even presume to know anything about me? Do you think you can crush me so easily? I've just told you, I've faced a lot worse than you, Draco Malfoy, and you really should make an effort to grow up some time."

He ground his teeth at me and then, to my very great surprise, simply sank back down with a grunt.

"If," he began, running his hands aggressively through his neat golden hair, "if I go back and get our files and bring them here to work..."

"But..."

"And pick up some of that horrible Thai food you're always on about, will you stay and try to rest at least a little?"

"Hmmm," I pretended to deliberate."Will you stop by that shop next to the Thai and get me some ice cream?"

"Chocolate peanut butter?" He looked at me warily now.

"Yes please.” I bounded to my bag and grabbed my mobile. "I'll call in the order. Your usual?"

"You're not resting," he snapped as he rose and stalked to the fireplace.

I ignored this.

"Do you need money?" I asked, reaching for my purse.

He looked at me pityingly.

"A Malfoy is never without money."

"Pounds?" I asked shrewdly.

He froze and I could see the wheels in his brain turning as his fistful of floo powder trickled between his fingers.

"Yes."

"'Yes' you do or 'yes' you don't?" But he'd disappeared in a swirl of ash.

I called in our order then hurried to undress and hop in a steamy shower. Malfoy'd have to stop at Gringotts either before or after the Ministry, and I'd have plenty of time to wash from my scalp the icky sweaty feeling that always followed the stomach cramp episodes.

Feeling fresher and considerably more relaxed following my shower, I wrapped my hair in a towel and sat down to scratch out a request to Madam Pomfrey. I didn't like the way generic pain potions made me feel, and her special formula also dealt with that awful queasiness.

Rueing my lack of an owl, I decided to ask Malfoy to send the note when he had a chance. He was being oddly solicitous today, despite his nasty words earlier, so I'd shamelessly take advantage by borrowing one of his personal owls.

And somehow his little tantrum didn't hurt my feelings so much as spin them into a confused jumble. The thoughts it provoked sent my brain whirring madly.

But I'd tacitly agreed to rest, so I shrugged into a loose sweatshirt, pulled on some tights, and lay back on the sofa with my ragged paperback _Anne of Green Gables_. I fanned my hair out to dry over the armrest and began to read.

 

"Back in the land of the living?" Malfoy's justified smugness rankled, but I felt too sleepy and comfortable to berate him. He must have lain this blanket over me and set my book on the coffee table next to the pile of files. I remembered turning the first page, then "poof," out like a light.

"How'd you get back in?" I asked with a yawn. I curled up on my side to watch him. He sat across from me in my reading chair with an open file on his knee and a quill tucked behind one ear.

He twirled his wand lazily in his left hand.

"Magic."

"Hmmm. Smells good." I shut my eyes again.

"Magic does?"

"My curry," I said. "Did you--"

"Place a warming charm on it? Yes. And your ice cream's in the freezer and I remembered the extra rice this time, before you ask."

I opened one eye to see him smirking as he worked.

"Gloating's unattractive."

"So you think I'm usually attractive?" He stared studiously down at his file.

"You know you are," I sighed, rolling onto my back to stretch, "but you're always gloating about something or other, so..."

"Go back to sleep, Granger," I could hear his grin. "I'll wake you up at dinner time."

We had worked from my flat again yesterday, savouring the privacy without a single owl or memo or squeaky mail cart to bring us more work. We'd made a plan and tried to organise our trip to Lisbon.

"I can't go on Friday the 13th," I insisted again.

"I never took you for a superstitious one," Malfoy scoffed.

"I'm testifying in court that day.” I tapped my planner adamantly, rolling my eyes.

"So we go on the 14th then," he shrugged.

"You don't have plans?"

"Plans?"

"Valentine's Day plans?" I spoke precisely, raising an eyebrow as twin slashes of red graced his cheeks, passing for a Malfoy blush.

"Ooh," I breathed, grinning. "Who's the lucky witch? Do I know her?"

"I don't have plans," he snapped irritably, jabbing his quill to the calendar. "The 14th's fine."

"Okay," I agreed, scratching it in. "So there's an easy direct portkey every Saturday, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, so we can stay, really, as long as we need. The library's arranged a place for us and they just need to know our arrival date."

"Fine," he'd agreed. "The weather should be decent, at least."

"I doubt we'll care much," I countered, "but it shouldn't be swelteringly hot like Baghdad's library then."

Malfoy had merely frowned at that.

 

So here I was, fiddling around at ten minutes till five on the Friday, losing hope that Malfoy had taken my words at Christmas to heart and would bring me his completed report himself for once. I'd naively thought he'd understood how much it bothered me, his childish little manipulation, and that he cared just a tiny bit that it bothered me.

I stood and stripped off my ugly Ministry robes, stuffing them into my bag. I straightened my charcoal grey pencil skirt and smoothed the pretty lilac cardigan I'd chosen for my evening out. I let down my ponytail and pinned back half of my curls against my crown, pleased, for once, with the soft effect.

Five minutes till. I couldn't wait any longer. With a sigh I shouldered my bag, tucked my own thick report under my arm, and locked my office. The Aurors seemed to be rowdily letting off steam in preparation for their weekend, so I circled around the back of the department to avoid getting sucked into the fray.

As I approached Malfoy's cubicle I could hear giggling within. Steeling myself, I rounded the corner to catch Amy simpering:

"Oh, you know how it is with our ancient family houses Draco," her voice dripped with insinuation, "as often as not the great musty things need to be pulled down, there are so many problems, not to mention lurking enchantments and all that."

I could see her perched comfortably on the arm of one of his chairs. She continued, "it's hardly worth putting the money and effort into them when they're decades past all hope of modernisation. My family's having the country house completely redone this summer."

"Perhaps," I said as I stepped into the cubicle, "the whole is worth more than the sum of its parts. After all, history is irreplaceable."

Amy jumped a little at my voice, but she didn't look at all guilty at the idea that her family might be irreparably destroying something immeasurably valuable to gain the convenience of modern plumbing.

"Hmm.” She was clearly skeptical. Her eyebrows arched cattily as she scanned my tidy outfit. "Don't you look the prim academic this evening?"

"Thanks." I ignored her obvious criticism.

Malfoy was leaning casually back in his chair, his bound report on the desk in front of him. I looked pointedly at it, the little hurt feeling constricting my throat.

 _This is working with Malfoy_ , I thought, _all smiles and stings_.

"I'm headed down to the post room now, if you've finished," I said quietly.

His eyes widened briefly and he stood, his chair flying back with a bang. I held my hand out for the report, but he snatched it up high like a game of keep away, a tentative, ingratiating smile forming on his slimy face.

"Don't be cross, Granger, I was just about to bring it to you but..."

"You were busy," I snapped. _Don’t do this to me in front of her_. "I get it, but I'm busy too. Just..."

"Not until you listen to me properly.” He came around his desk, grinning now. "I need to talk to you about this weekend."

"It _is_ this weekend!" I shouted, shoving my wristwatch in his face. "It's five o'clock on a Friday and, contrary to popular belief, I do have a life, insignificant though it may seem to you!"

Amy was clearly enjoying herself. She had risen from her chair but was now seated impertinently on Malfoy's desk, the better to view our sparring match. I knew my face was turning red and I hated that I couldn't hex Malfoy within an inch of his life without risking harm to his report that was my ticket out of this hellish little cube in which I'd suddenly landed.

"Hermione?" Harry said, just out of sight right behind me, but I could imagine his expression of exasperated amusement. I spun around.

"Will you tell...oh!" Harry wasn't alone.

"Someone was looking for you." Harry smirked knowingly now. He'd been spending too much time around Ginny for my liking.

"Hi Sami," I squeaked. "I thought I'd meet you downstairs?"

"Mr. Potter found me in the lobby and offered to show me around your department," Sami's lovely voice was just as polite and friendly as I remembered, "and it is such an honour, Mr. Potter..."

Malfoy snorted loudly behind me.

Harry and I ignored him.

"Please call me Harry."

"It is an honour, Harry.” Sami's wide smile was still lovely too.

"I've heard a lot of good things about you and your school," Harry said pleasantly. "Hermione was very impressed."

"I'm ready to go," I said hurriedly, breaking up the meeting of the mutual admiration society. "Malfoy's going to take our work down to post, so I'm all set." I slapped my report next to Amy on Malfoy's desk.

"Mr. Malfoy.” Sami dipped his head courteously. "It is good to see you again..."

"Yes, yes," I interrupted. "We had better get going if you want to eat before the lecture. We could find somewhere here in London or wait till we get to Oxford. Which do you prefer?"

"Oxford, I think.” He placed a gentle hand on my back, steering me out of the crowded cubicle.

Amy bolted past us, no doubt hastening to spread the news of my dishy visitor before her friends all left for the weekend.

I heard Harry laugh as Sami and I headed to the lift.

"...next time, Malfoy."

"Shut it, Scarhead."


	13. No Other Medicine

February 14, 2004: Lisbon, Portugal

 

   The jerk and whirl of the portkey left my brain spinning as my feet hit hard ground. In vain I attempted to smooth my hair, which always protested this violent form of magical transport. My hip bag felt leaded, digging into my shoulder insistently. 

   "I don't," I wobbled slightly, "I don't feel well."

   I tried to sink to the inviting white marble floor of the Lisbon Ministry offices, but Malfoy grabbed my elbow firmly, steering me to a nearby bench. He sat me down and peered anxiously into my face. 

   The images that had been playing through my head, the horrible crime scene that I'd tried to block from my memory eighteen months previously, swam before me, but then his worried silver eyes came into focus, inches from mine. 

   "You look like death," he growled, glaring at a curious witch who had paused to stare at us. 

   "I just didn't sleep well," I argued. "I'll be okay tomorrow."

   "It was that bloody case.” His voice was strained. “This whole week you've been a disaster about it. They shouldn't have made you testify."

   "Don't be ridiculous." I slapped away the hand he'd stretched out to take my bag. “Those foul pieces of scum have to stay locked up, and if they'd been let out because I'd been too cowardly to testify, I'd never forgive myself."

   I hesitated, then looked away from his severe gaze, "it's just... the pictures of those kids..."

   "Stop right now," he ordered. “It's done and those animals will never see the light of day again."

   "Could you get me a glass of water?"

   He looked like he didn't trust me to be left alone, but nodded and stalked off in search of assistance. 

   I took a couple of deep breaths and examined my surroundings. The Lisbon offices, though quite small, were beautifully light and open, with high white baroque arches and slender columns. A wide corridor began opposite my seat and low, broad marble steps led further into the building. There were no magical fireplaces that I could see, presumably because one could apparate inside the building or use the direct portkey. 

   "Ms. Granger?" The light voice spoke hesitantly to my right. I turned to see a middle aged witch with short curly black hair approaching. 

   "I am. I mean, yes?" I nodded and stood shakily. 

   "I thought I recognised you.” She extended a hand, which I shook. Her beaming smile was disarming, and I smiled easily back. 

   "I am Ines Coutinho, and please call me Ines, if you like. It is such a pleasure, an honour, really Senorina Granger, that you have come in person to finalise our project. I could not believe the amount of work you put in on our behalf, especially when you must have so many demands on your time."

   "You can call me Hermione, and I had a great deal of help," I assured her, my damnable blush heating my cheeks. “My partner put in at least as much time as I, and it was really his translation skills that made the process so smooth."

  "And is this he?" She gestured gracefully over my shoulder. 

   I turned quickly to find Malfoy standing behind me holding two bottles of water, and wearing a very odd expression. He handed me one bottle. 

   "Yes," I cleared my throat, "Ines, Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, this is Ines Coutinho."

   "Senora," he bowed over her hand rather elegantly, “it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person after such lengthy correspondence."

   "Oh yes," she laughed delightedly at his suave manners, quirking an eyebrow at me most meaningfully. “The owls have thickened the air, have they not?"

   While they were talking I gulped down some water and tucked the half-empty bottle into my bag. 

   "Would you like first to see the library, or be taken to your accommodations?" Ines asked, glancing between us politely. 

   "Oh, the library, please," I said ardently. 

   "Maybe..." Malfoy began, but I cut across him, forestalling his inevitable protest.

   "I understand that it was designed on the same lines as the library in Mafra," I breathed, knowing I sounded ridiculously excited. Well, I was excited. 

   "Yes," Ines matched my excited tone. “It is really a work of art. Come with me and I will show you."

   We followed her up the steps and turned down a wide hall that had tall windows all along one side. She stopped and stood theatrically before an enormous wooden door. 

   "This is the main entrance.” She spoke with the solemn cadence of a tour guide, but her merry eyes twinkled in expectation of our appreciation. "There is also a small access door to your section from our Restricted Department, but it is hidden from most visitors unless they have express permission to use the valuable and dangerous texts held there."

   I glanced at Malfoy in conspiratorial anticipation,  only to find him smiling smugly down at me like a parent to an overeager child on Christmas morning. Impulsively, I took his hand for a moment and squeezed it. His index finger swept swiftly over my wrist before I let go and stepped to follow Ines through the opening door. 

   "Oh," I gasped, hurrying forward to the railing of the broad balcony where she led us. A beautiful staircase curved down to our left, and books filled shelves along the walls of both levels. 

   While smaller than the library at Hogwarts, this room was much brighter. It practically begged you to make your selection and settle into one of the many inviting window seats. The high arches were repeated here, streaming in both light and fresh air. 

   "How marvellous," I beamed at Ines, "I could just live here."

   "You already practically live in the British Library," Malfoy drawled, joining me at the rail. 

   "It has been the dream of many decades," Ines said proudly, "and I am thrilled by your admiration. Would you like to see the section where you will be working this week?" 

   "Yes, please."

   She led us down the stairs, pointing out various architectural features as we went. We walked under the balcony to an arched doorway. I peered anxiously above it, praying that they hadn't put a plaque of the name up. ‘Sensitive and Highly Incendiary Texts’ indeed. The space was mercifully blank. 

   "Here we are," Ines said. “All you need is permission from me, or whoever is the next head librarian, to enter. There is no other charm."

  I stepped down two steps, feeling the tingle of strong magic, into an arched room that was very like the chapel of a grand cathedral. A long table consumed the middle of the room, and stacks of boxes, presumably filled with books, nearly overwhelmed it. The walls of empty shelves, awaiting their destined occupants, captivated my attention. 

   Movement overhead caught my eye and I looked up. 

   "Ah," I whispered, experiencing a keen wave of homesickness, "it's like the Great Hall." I turned to Malfoy who now stood next to me, looking up likewise.

   Pale lavender clouds lazed across a rosy sunset ceiling, reflecting the evening sky outside, a miniature of Hogwarts' dining hall.  

   "Yes," Ines confirmed as she joined us, "my father attended your Hogwarts and always spoke of its great beauty and enchantments. We hope that this pleases you?" Her voice was suddenly hesitant as she saw my expression. 

   "I love it," I told her honestly, "and I think it is an honour to our school to have been such an influence."  

   "Well," her smile was back, "as you can see, there is much to be done. We had some workers unpacking the books from their boxes, but one man was badly bitten and we decided to wait for your expertise."

   "Did he stroke it?" Malfoy said, glancing at me cheekily. 

   "I..." Ines looked confused. 

   "Malfoy had trouble with a biting book once," I told her, smirking at him, "but I think he learned his lesson well."

     

 

   "This place is a bit...disgusting," Malfoy muttered to me. 

   "It is, well, yes, a little," I murmured back, "but please behave."

   The small hotel where we had been brought by a ministry worker was only a couple of blocks from the Lisbon office. There was a tempting glimpse of the sea down the long avenue, but the hotel itself was, well, grotty. 

   The just not-quite-perfectly-clean feeling of its dingy reception extended doubly to the greasy middle aged man behind the reception’s desk. His Portuguese was harsh, and he spoke with an irritating rapidity which made it difficult for me to translate. I could tell that Malfoy did not like the man at all. 

   "He says that the two rooms reserved for us are not available on the same level, I think, and would you like breakfast in the morning?" Malfoy translated. 

   "I don't think so," I said. “Are our rooms ready?"

   "Yes," Malfoy practically growled, his glare directed at the hotelier.  

   "Luggage?" The greasy man asked me, coming around the desk with a fistful of keys. 

   "No." I shook my head, feeling very tired. The adrenaline rush from touring the library had faded, and I longed for a hot shower and a peaceful night of rest. 

   The man indicated that I should follow him up the narrow stairs. As I did so I could feel Malfoy close behind me. 

   "Here.” The man opened my door with a rattle of keys. He stood in the doorway, leering, and I had to turn sideways to enter without brushing against him. Malfoy followed me into the room. 

   It wasn't too bad, with a large window that opened onto the street and allowed in a salty breeze that freshened the room. The single bed looked fairly clean, and a large wardrobe stood to the side. 

   "Thank you," I said, setting my bag on the nightstand. Malfoy looked around, his lip curling at the cobwebs in one corner, and then stomped out, slamming the door behind him. 

   I dug my toiletries out of my bag and then twisted my hair up on top of my head. We had passed the bathroom at the end of the hall, and I didn't want to have to come back for anything and risk running into the landlord again. I assumed that Malfoy's room was on the ground floor. I suddenly wished that I knew which room it was. 

   I kicked off my shoes and slipped on my flip flops that I'd bought in Australia. Grabbing my toiletry bag and wand, I opened my door. 

   "Oh!" I stepped back. The landlord stood in the hall. 

   "Your key.” He held out an old-fashioned brass key in his palm. I took it, careful to avoid touching him, and tried to move politely by. I could see his wand stuck sloppily through his belt, and he stank of fish and old beer. 

   He stepped in front of me, speaking lowly as he looked me up and down. I tilted my chin and tried to keep my voice steady. 

   "I'm sorry," I said slowly through my translation charm, "I don't understand you. Please move out of my way."

   He stepped aside with a smirk, and I walked purposefully to the bathroom where I locked and magically sealed the door. 

   I showered as quickly as possible, my nerves jumping at any little noise from the hallway. I could feel a knot of tension in my neck that had tightened instead of relaxing under the hot water. 

   Back in my room I locked and colloportused the door. I scourgified the bedding and sat down on the edge of the sagging mattress. My pulse thumped anxiously and the horrifying crime scene images, that had been so thoroughly banished by the joy of seeing the library, began to creep back into my mind. 

   I stared at the door, the keyhole emitting a tiny dot of light from the hallway. Stealthy steps on the carpeted corridor paused in front of my room, blocking that light for a moment, and then moved on. 

   I rubbed my wand across my palm, wishing I'd followed my instincts and asked Malfoy if we shouldn't find another place to stay. If only I hadn't been too bloody proud, I wouldn't be facing a night of sleepless watchfulness, for the greasy hotel owner had conveyed his unwelcome intent quite clearly. 

   The keyhole darkened again, and I really did jump at the brisk rap on the door that followed. 

   "Yes?" I said clearly. 

   "Let me in, Granger." Malfoy sounded petulant. 

   I unlocked and opened the door with a flick of my wand, and Malfoy tumbled inside before slamming and locking it again. He had his bag and a pillow and was scowling like he'd just lost another Quidditch match. 

   "My room smells like something's died in it," he snarled. 

   "It's too late to find another..."

   "I know," he snapped, "I'll sleep in here. We'll change accommodations tomorrow."

   "Okay," I felt the knot in my neck unravel a couple of tangles, "but this bed's pretty narrow for two people." 

   Malfoy's head whipped up from his open bag, and I could see, even in the dim light, his wild, unguarded expression, and I half regretted, half thrilled at the flash of momentary hunger I saw there before he recognised my teasing tone. 

   "You talk in your sleep," he said haughtily as he dragged a ragged chair from the corner and began transfiguring it into a low bed, "and I wouldn't be surprised if you kicked too."

   Whatever madness had overtaken me out of relief at his presence prompted me to further reckless bedevilment. 

   "I've never had any complaints," I flushed at my own joking words but hastened on quietly, "I'm glad you came. I...."

   "Just get a good night's sleep, Granger," he ordered gruffly. “I need you firing on all cylinders in the morning."

   I lifted back the sheet and slid into bed, lying on my side to watch as he made his own bed, quite literally. He managed to conjure a fitted sheet, but I could see his hesitant confusion as he turned it in his hands. 

   "Here.” I flicked my wand and the sheet settled on the transfigured bed, tucking neatly around the corners of the mattress. 

   "Huh.” He covered that with a flat sheet, tossed a thin blanket on the bed, and stepped back in satisfaction. 

   "First time?" I asked, curling my arm above my head. 

   "That's what hou..." He paused. 

   "House elves are for?" I finished for him with a smile. His slightly guilty expression faded as he glanced over at me. I stared back at him for a moment, my heart thudding pleasantly at his befuddled perusal, but this was a dangerous game. 

   "Whereever did you hear that muggle expression," I asked pertly, breaking the tension. 

   "What?" 

   "Cylinders?" I smiled again. 

   "Must have been the senior Weasel," he shrugged as he moved to settle into bed, "during the year from hell in Misuse of Muggle Artefacts."

   "Really? That was your worst year?" I rubbed my neck as I spoke, not really thinking, just letting sleep creep over me. 

   He was silent for a long time. I was almost out, my breathing relaxed and even for a change. He must have believed me asleep, but I heard him quite clearly. 

   "My worst year started on the Astronomy tower and ended after I saw you safe, I thought, in Weasley's arms."

 

   I woke in the middle of the night to one sharp bang followed by a yelp from the corridor. I could see Malfoy on his bed, propped up on one elbow, his hair all mussed from sleep, with his wand pointed at the door. 

   "Ha!" he said gleefully, laying back down, "bet he doesn't try that again in a hurry


	14. They Are the Books, the Arts, the Academes

February 15th 2004: Lisbon, Portugal

 

   The soft sea air sweeping in my half open window carried the scream of distant gulls, and roused me from a satisfying slumber. I rolled over to look at Malfoy in the grey-blue predawn light. He lay sprawled on his back, one hand clutching his wand, the other hanging limply over the edge of his makeshift bed. 

   Light, snuffling snores, like the sounds a snoozing Crookshanks used to make, told me he was still asleep.

   I crept from my own bed, silently locating my toiletries bag. Gripping my wand anxiously, I unlocked the door as quietly as I could, and slipped out. I studied the corridor carefully, but no evidence of Malfoy’s midnight hexes remained. 

   I padded down to the bathroom and completed my morning ablutions, considering as I did, the day ahead, and growing conscious of the return of an enjoyable anticipation. I wrestled a wet comb through my hair and then subdued the mess into a, only semi-feral, plait. 

   I pulled on my well-worn dark green Harpies t-shirt, and looked up at the mirror to catch myself smiling. A touch of pink rosied my cheeks, and the dark circles beneath my eyes were lessening. 

   I tugged on faded denims, and finally, laced up a pair of battered trainers. 

   Archived books were a dusty, dirty business.

   I opened the bathroom door to find Malfoy looming.

   “Slytherin green?” He smirked down at my shirt.

   Prat. 

   “And I thought you were the big Quidditch fan here,” I quipped, gesturing exaggeratedly to the large golden talon emblazoned on my front. 

   His grey eyes lit with appreciative humour. 

   We stood together for an easy moment, each reluctant to break this new, natural accord that hummed between us. 

   Two hundred and eighty-five days since we’d begun working together, and I suddenly felt just, simply...glad that he was the one here with me now. 

   He shifted at last. 

   “I...” he cleared this throat, “I arranged new accommodations for us by owl.” He flicked his gaze to my left ear and I read in his odd, altered expression a flash of guilt. He drew his wand across his palm, alerting me to his nervousness. 

   “Okay.” I cocked my head curiously, causing a rogue curl to spring free from my plait. Blast.

   “So, are you done primping in there?” He asked, reaching up long fingers to catch that curl with a sudden, abstracted smile. 

   I took a sharp breath, remembering in a flash, Helene, hands on hips, listing her proofs as we stood on that blazing hot street in Oxford—

   “ _He touches the ends of your hair_...”

   “All set.” I brought my small bag of toiletries up between us to redirect his attention. 

   “Right.” He straightened. “I’ll only be a moment then.”

   He pushed past me into the bathroom as I scooted out, snapping the door shut. 

 

   We found the hotel’s reception devoid of all life, so I merely tossed our room keys onto the desk with good riddance. 

   I purchased us breakfast consisting of a coffee and pastry each at a little hole in the wall shop near the Ministry, while Draco chatted to an old man selling newspapers on the street corner. 

   “Thanks," he said, accepting his cappuccino with a smile, "nice day, isn't it?" 

   Ah. Weather. Right. 

   “Yes,” I agreed, slightly bemused. 

   We walked the final block to the Ministry in silence. 

 

   “So hopefully,” I explained eagerly to Ines as we bent together over my scroll of parchment, “the list, compiled by the three of us, is comprehensive. Magical compatibility between the volumes has been our top priority, and the goal of universal accessibility will be a breakthrough in the magical world.”

   “If our index actually works,” Malfoy drawled dampeningly. 

   “It will work,” I huffed, shooting him a glare. He grinned back. 

   “And the markers?” Ines pointed to the box of dots in question.

   “Yes,” I rallied, “microdots that act as a miniature magical barcode. They adhere to the volume’s spine and then their information can be duplicated to whichever section of the index they apply.”

   “So...” Ines looked at Malfoy. 

   “So the dots emit a magical signature that enlarges with handling instructions when the title is selected from the index,” Malfoy explained. “That way the volumes can live harmoniously on their shelves without neutralising charms, and yet anyone—squib, muggle, or magical—can access it.”

   “And the index can translate its subject headings into English, French, Spanish, German, Italian, and of course, Portuguese,” I said proudly. 

   “We’ll keep working on further languages,” Malfoy added, “but for now, the remaining challenge is ensuring that each volume is listed in the appropriate sections.”

   “For example, _Sudanese Succulents_ ,” I selected from the lot, “would go into multiple sections: Healing, Herbology, Potions, and Travel.”

   “And...’S,’ of course,” Malfoy hissed jokingly. 

   “Right.” I blushed. 

   “Well,” Ines beamed, “I’m more impressed than ever. Your assistants will sadly not be here until tomorrow, but please let me know if you need me today for anything?”

   “We will,” I assured her. She headed reluctantly out of the room and back into the main library. 

   “Well,” Malfoy echoed. We surveyed the landscape of boxes that covered the table. The enchanted ceiling danced with wispy clouds across a periwinkle sky, and dust motes floated in the golden glow from the one, high arched window. 

   I pulled a dragon-hide glove onto my left hand and twirled my wand in my right, grinning at an amused Malfoy.

   “Heaven,” I sighed.  

 

   The morning passed pleasantly with only one exciting incident when Malfoy found the biting book in his second box. It latched onto his glove, growling determinedly, and it took a judicious freezing charm and a stream of creative expletives before Malfoy shook himself free. 

   “This is the same bloody thing we were assigned in third year!” He exclaimed indignantly, bunging _The Monster Book of Monsters_  down on the table. 

   “It’s going next to _Forbidden and Forgotten Tunes to Charm the Savage Beast_ ,” I reminded him, “So it should be alright.” 

   After a brief lunch, we argued a bit before finally agreeing to begin the shelving and marking process, thus freeing up more table space and, most importantly, verifying that our whole plan would actually work. 

   “You should be the one on the ladder,” Malfoy insisted. “It doesn’t make sense to have the shorter person handing books up.”

   “But that leaves you with all the marking and matching.” I bit my lip, holding back what I’d been about to say. 

   “And what?” he snapped, “you don’t think I’ll do a good enough job?”

   “That’s...” I crossed my arms, feeling exceedingly childish. 

   “What?” Malfoy demanded. 

   “I trust you. I just...” I laughed, acknowledging my silliness, “...just wanted the first turn.”

   “Oh, my sainted aunt.” He rolled his eyes like a professional eye-roller and held out _Imagining Immortality_ to me. “Do this one then.”

   Grinning, I transferred the microdot with my wand. It stuck to the book’s spine, glowing for a moment. I cast the charm to duplicate the signature and applied it to the blank first page of the index under ‘I’. 

   “We are geniuses!” I did a little celebratory dance as the title automatically added itself to the rest of the catalogue’s pages under the appropriate subjects. 

   “Now get up that ladder, Witch,” Malfoy laughed, holding the rung steady at the top.

 

   Could an afternoon be spent more happily? Peaceful hours surrounded by the alluring atmosphere of ancient magic, inhaling the beloved blend of ink, parchment, and leather. Sliding illicitly back and forth along the shelves on the library ladder. 

   “You know,” Malfoy mused, handing me a book as the church bells outside began to toll five o’clock, “some of these are probably bound with human skin.”

   “Urgh, Malfoy!” I protested. “I was just about to suggest dinner.” 

   I shelved the slim black volume and turned on my ladder perch with a mock disgusted glare, prepared to enjoy the opportunity to loom over him for a change. 

   “Ooh,” Malfoy acknowledged my intimidation attempt, “very fierce, Granger.” He grinned and offered me a hand down. 

   I ignored him with a sniff and hopped down on my own. A puff of dust flew off me and I sneezed.

   “There goes the bird’s nest,” Malfoy commented, using his wand to flick the pathetic remnant of my plait. 

   “Maybe you could show me where we are staying,” I suggested dryly, flicking my hair back, “and I could do something with it before we go out to eat.”

   Again across his face flashed the same nervous, guilty expression I’d caught that morning. 

   “We can apparate there,” he finally said. 

   “I’ll tell Ines we’re leaving then,” I headed for the door, “and we can go from the lobby.”

 

   Each new instance of side-along apparation with Malfoy grew increasingly uncomfortable. This time we landed together on the top step of a whitewashed stairwell, teetering for our balance. I found myself pressed against his front in an awkwardly familiar manner, clutching at his shirt to prevent a tumble backwards. 

   “Nice one,” I snapped sarcastically to cover my embarrassment. I felt instantly guilty at my rudeness. “Sorry,” I softened, peeking up at him. 

   “Look,” he said in a strained sort of voice, “look...”

   I looked around. I saw a blue door to my right, and white steps turned pink by the evening sun, and the top of some palm trees over the edge of the white wall. And Malfoy’s expensive shirt fisted in my sweaty hand. I relinquished my grip in horror. 

   “Sorry!” I said again, smoothing a hand over the crumpled patch, and thus across his, apparently, rather toned chest. 

   Much, much worse. 

   “Look.” He grabbed my wrist firmly. “Look, we don’t have to stay here,” his words came in a rush, “just...don’t...overreact.”

   I bristled. Nothing made me want to overreact as much as the stricture that I mustn’t. 

   “Okay,” I agreed suspiciously. He opened the unlocked door and I followed him inside. A warmth of welcoming, protective wards flooded over me. 

   “Oh!” I exclaimed. The flat we entered was all shades of soft blues and greys, but the room itself scarcely registered. The entire wall straight ahead consisted of floor to ceiling windows and a glass door that led to a wide, white balcony. 

   I moved forward slowly, entranced. The River Tagus opened with a swell into the Atlantic just below. Ships returning home from the sea flashed with light on the splashing water. 

   “Where are we?” I asked, turning slowly. 

   “It’s—“

   Pop!

   I spun this time, wand out. 

   “Master Malfoy!” A tiny elf stood wringing her hands excitedly in the middle of the room. 

   “Libby,” Malfoy greeted quickly, “Libby, this is Hermione Granger.”

   “Master Malfoy!” She squeaked again, her enormous eyes goggling at me with delight. “Master Malfoy has finally brought home his Miss! Oh, Master Malfoy!” She sprang onto the large ottoman next to me like an overeager hound puppy spotting its first fox. 

   “Libby,” Malfoy sounded desperate, “Granger is NOT—“

   “Oh Miss,” Libby smoothed her tiny hands over her snowy white pillowcase uniform, “oh, Miss Her...Her...”

   “Hermione.” I offered my hand. She stared at it for half a moment, apparently overwhelmed, before sandwiching my fingers between both of her palms in a paroxysm of ecstasy. 

   “Miss Hermione,” she beamed, “you is every bit as pretty as Libby imagined.” She trembled alarmingly. “But Miss,” she lowered her squeaks to a furtive stage whisper, squinting professionally at my grimy appearance, “Miss is quite on the dusty side.” 

   “Yes,” I agreed, glimpsing Malfoy’s pained, anxious expression over Libby’s twitching ears. 

   “Libby—May I call you Libby as well?” I asked politely. 

   “Oh, Miss!” She beamed even more brightly, clapping her hands together, “Of course Miss may, as that is the only name Libby is ever called by her friends, unless she is in disgrace and then she is only being called...”

   She looked as anxious as Malfoy now, glancing at him for permission. Malfoy looked as though he had just bitten into a particularly sour lemon, but he nodded to Libby encouragingly. 

   She raced on.  

   “Libby is being called ‘Liberty,’ when she is in disgrace only.”

   “Oh,” I said, nonplussed. “I rather like the name Liberty, but of course I’ll call you Libby like your friends do.”

   “Libby hasn’t been so happy as this since she left the nasty Lestra—“ she paused, dismay and panic flooding her face. She gripped both of her ears and began twisting them fiercely. 

   “Stop!” It was Draco who leapt forward, seizing the elf, and bodily ceasing her self-inflicted punishment. “Stop, Libby,” he said sternly. “Remember?”

   She nodded, her expression clearing. 

   “Libby,” I ventured, “would you be able to show me where I can clean up and put my dusty clothes?”

   “Oh! Yes, Miss.” Libby shone again immediately. She hopped from the ottoman and instantly trotted off down the short hall. I followed her through a bright bedroom into its adjacent bath. 

   “Lovely.” I smiled at the eager elf. She grinned back happily. 

   “If Miss is wanting to take a bubble bath...” She gestured enticingly to the tempting tub.

   “Maybe tomorrow,” I suggested. 

   “Oh!” She began conjuring bottles of shampoos and other potions with quick snaps of her long fingers, “Miss Hermione! You will be having the best bubble bath! Libby is an expert bubbler.”

   “Bubbler...” I nodded, gathering her intended meaning. 

   “Yes. Big, strong, good smelling bubbles that is lasting as long as you like and is keeping the water just right.”

   “I’ll be counting down the hours,” I said honestly. “Just a quick shower for now though.”

   “If you will be giving Libby your dusty clothes then Miss,” she hinted. 

   “Oh,” I assured her, holding up my small bag, “but I have plenty of clothes in here...” 

   The small elf looked so dejected at this denial of her services that I changed course immediately. 

   “...so I can bring you my dirty things after I’ve showered and dressed?”

   Her beaming smile returned. 

   “Miss,” she bounced from bare foot to bare foot, “Miss is very right.”

   Bolting from the bath with a rapid patter, she called excitedly to Malfoy from the hall as she rushed to rejoin him. 

 

~•~ ~•~ ~•~

 

   “So.” I let the word hang in the air between us as Malfoy and I walked an exploratory zig-zag through the neighbourhood surrounding, what I had surmised to be, his flat. 

   Malfoy maintained an obstinate silence, his expression comically mulish. 

   The gusts of salty breeze that found their way up the narrow alley lifted my shower-damp hair and twisted it annoyingly. I pulled it into a long coil over my left shoulder, and rubbed my neck. 

   “So, Libby seems—”

   “Why do you do that?” Malfoy interrupted harshly. 

   I caught my balance against a peeling metal railing that edged some stairs down to the basement of a battered looking set of flats. 

   “What?” I bit, utterly confused. 

   He turned to face me, eyes flying to my...

   “That.” He rubbed his own hand over the left side of his neck, imitating my subconscious tic. 

   I stared at him. 

   “Y-you,” I stammered, angry humiliation heating my cheeks, “you were _there_ , Draco.” 

   “Was it cursed, the scar?” he blurted desperately. “My aunt...she...does it still...”

   “Oh.” I sagged with understanding. 

   “Libby,” he rushed on, “Libby still has cuts that won’t heal. They open sometimes and she...”

   “No, Draco,” I said firmly. “Mine is just a normal scar left by that mad woman with a very sharp knife.” I pushed the hair aside and ran a finger over my neck and across the thin raised line. 

   “Libby,” I went on, “seems very happy with you.”

   I don’t know why I had this constant need to reassure him. I didn’t owe him anything, certainly, but I felt a persistent urge to swat at those demons that continued to pop up between us. 

   Well, they wouldn’t spoil this lovely Lisbon evening, I was determined of that. 

   My stomach gave a rude, life-affirming rumble, and all thoughts of house-elves and their sadistic former owners took a back seat to a ravenous wave of hunger. 

   “There’s a nice restaurant on the water just around this corner,” Malfoy snapped. He carded long fingers through his blonde hair, mussing it artfully. It made him look unfairly handsome against the deepening indigo of the twilit sky. 

   “Good,” I flicked my own hair back. “Because I could eat a hippogriff.”

 

~•~  ~•~  ~•~

 

   That evening I studied my scar in one of the many mirrors in Malfoy’s flat. I couldn’t quite decide whether the abundance of mirrors catered to a pervasive Malfoy vanity, or cleverly capitalised on the natural light to make the small space feel airy. 

   We’d argued, of course, upon our return to the flat, about who would sleep where, but my persistent reasoning that I could easily fit on the comfortable chaise longue without any magical alterations, whereas he would naturally dangle a foot over its end, left him in a grump, but also in the bed in the one bedroom. 

   So, by the dim, fluctuating light that flickered through the room’s wall of glass, I examined the raised line of tissue that marred my neck. I hadn’t noticed any scars on Libby, but perhaps she hid them with her magic. 

   My own scar was long, like a hairline fracture across a porcelain vase, and not cursed. Noticeable, but it hardly disrupted a picture of perfection in my other features, with a slightly tilted nose freckled by the strong Lisbon sun, and plain, unremarkable hazel eyes. Symmetrical, average, and neat, at least since my front teeth had been shrunk when I was fifteen. 

   Ginny, in all our joint preparations for various public appearances, had never once suggested makeup or a glamour charm for my scar. She always had a way of making me feel pretty, but I often sensed her self-restraint as I persisted in pulling my unruly curls protectively over my shoulder instead of allowing her to magic them up into fancy styles. 

   If she could see my hair now, frizzed into a chaotic halo by the sea air...

   “Bzzzzzzzztttt!”

   I spun in alarm. Something about standing in the dark in Malfoy’s flat had me keyed up and jumpy. 

   “Bzztt. Bzztt. Bzztt.”

   I finally registered that the odd sound came from my bag lying on the glass tabletop. 

   Laughing out loud to oneself probably indicates an alarming trend towards mental instability, but I laughed anyway as I fished the vibrating phone from my bag and flipped it open.

    “Hey, Ginny,” I smiled. 

   “Oh, good!” she shouted into my ear. 

   “Geez, Gin,” I yanked the phone back then returned it cautiously, “decibels, remember?”

   “Sorry,” she apologised breezily. I heard a loud slurping sound and the rustle of a plastic wrapper. 

   “So, no baby yet,” I guessed with trepidation. 

   “No.” Ginny sounded annoyed, though whether by the question or her pregnant condition, it was impossible to say. “How is Blondie behaving?” she asked. Talking to her always felt like we’d just sat down at the Gryffindor dining table after only the day of classes apart. It felt nice. 

   “Pretty well,” I admitted. “We got quite a lot done today with the main library closed and all. I can’t believe the effort they’ve put into the design. But you’ll have to come see it for yourself. It’s gorgeous.”

   “Wow, Hermione,” I could hear her grin, “I don’t know how you guessed, but Harry and I were just talking about which library we could visit as our next holiday.”

   “Har, har,” I conceded. 

   “Anyway,” Ginny said, “no holidays for us for a bit. Nappyland ahead.”

   She didn’t sound unhappy, so I smiled again. 

   “You’ll be the best mum,” I sighed, meaning it too. 

   “It seems so weird,” Ginny mused. “I feel sometimes ancient—like I’ve lived a dozen lives—and then sometimes like I’m the one who still needs her mum.”

   She spoke with such calm honesty that I found myself merely nodding, thinking about my own mother. Not a great way to communicate over mobile phone, but I knew that, at the other end, she was thinking too. 

   Another loud slurp brought me round.

   “What on earth are you...” I began. 

   “It’s this Merlin-blasted orange juice!” Ginny said defensively. “I’m going through vats of the stuff a day, and then I’m up all night needing a wee.”

   “Have you tried...”

   “Peeling the oranges takes too long,” she anticipated me. “Either way, this baby’s going to come out an Oompa Loompa.”

   “You know they’re only orange in the movie,” I told her quickly. “In the book the Oompa Loompas have...”

   “Yes, Hermione,” she singsonged. “You gave that little lecture before. During the movie, if I recall.”

   “Oh.”

   “Will you bring me back some of that chocolate that has chili in it?” she asked suddenly. 

   “I don’t know if that’s even from Portugal,” I laughed, glad that she had an appetite again now that she had reached her third trimester.  

   “Well,” another slurp in my ear, “I’ll be glad to see you regardless. It seems like you’ve been living at the ministry with that awful case going on.”

   My stomach flipped with a scary, anxious affection for her. 

   “Ginny...”

   “And be nice to Malfoy. He’s got it bad,” she delivered, and rang off. 

 


	15. That Show, Contain, and Nourish All the World

February 18th, 2004: Lisbon, Portugal

 

“I almost can’t believe we’ll be finished today,” I sighed.

“It’s taken long enough,” Malfoy observed. He set a steaming cup and saucer before me on the kitchen table. I inhaled its rich aroma with another sigh.

“You might make the best coffee of any non-muggle I know.”

“It’s all in the grind,” Malfoy declared, settling down across from me with his his own cup.

“I wonder who taught you that?” I laughed and took a grateful taste.

“Some know-it-all witch I met once.” He grinned, closing his eyes for dramatic effect as he took his first sip.

“Do you think it would be okay if I started some toast?” I ventured in a whisper.

“Better not risk it.” Malfoy shook his head.

“Maybe I could...”

“Miss!” Libby apparated into the flat with a crack, “Miss Hermione! Libby is making pancakes with blueberries today for Miss’s breakfast. Will Miss finish reading the book to us today?”

“What am I,” Malfoy huffed, “minced murtlap?” But he said it under his breath and with a smile.

“I think you’re on her naughty list,” I theorised, “because you got out that frying pan yesterday morning.”

“I told you it was a bad idea.” He smirked as he lifted his coffee cup, eyes locked on mine. I grinned back.

“Does Miss think we can finish the book today?” Libby asked again. She flitted around the kitchen from one step-stool to another, banging pots and pans with relish.

“Um,” I glanced sideways at Malfoy, “I think we’ll be going back to London this evening, Libby.” 

“But,” Libby froze, her widened eyes barely peeping over the kitchen counter at me, “but Miss will be coming home to see Master Malfoy at the—”

“Libby,” Malfoy’s face had gone white with those two red slashes across his cheekbones, “that’s not going to happen.”

“Miss won’t—”

“Libby!”

“I can probably finish reading the book to you this morning,” I suggested softly. “We don’t have to leave for almost two more hours.”

“Yes, Miss.” Libby’s ears perked back up, but she cast a furtive, confused glance at Draco. He was staring into his cup as though he now found its contents highly offensive.

I accio’d the book from my bag and gave Libby an encouraging smile.

“Do you remember where we left off last night?” I asked, cracking it open and hunting for the spot.

“Oh, yes, Miss!” Libby squeaked ecstatically, _“‘Daffodils, be daffodils,’_ and then the new chapter.”

“Ah, right,” I agreed. I began:

   “‘ _Chapter 19: In Which Sophie Expresses Her Feelings with Weed-killer._

_Howl opened the door toward the end of the afternoon and sauntered in, whistling. He seemed to have got over the mandrake root.’”_

“Wait,” Malfoy stood abruptly, “I don’t want to miss any of it, but I have to send a quick owl.” He shot off down the corridor before we could respond.

I stared after him in astonishment. He didn’t want to miss any of me reading a children’s book aloud to his house-elf? Over the last two evenings he had sprawled silently in an armchair as I read to Libby, but I had believed that mere lassitude after our taxing time in the library, not interest in the story.

Admittedly, these last four days had been a sort of dreamlike revelation; we had laughed together as we sorted the temperamental texts in our charge, and the work hours had flown by in easy cooperation. But this, this was something more—a dangerous kindredness of spirit. A treacherous... possibility.

Last night I had been reading in _voices_. I had let my armour down, enjoying Libby’s rapt expression as she listened, and had put my heart into entertaining her. I had felt contented and safe. And I hadn’t been worried about what Malfoy thought for one second.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Malfoy hurried back into the kitchen, “but I almost forgot to tell that Italian professor the time to come today.” He sat back down and looked across at me with an expectant air.

“Ah,” I said intelligently.

“Go on,” he urged, “and don’t skimp on doing the voices.”

“Um, right.”

 

 

“That went as well as could be expected, I think,” Malfoy commented smugly.

“Went well,” I protested, “that went brilliantly!”

We stood outside the Lisbon Ministry of Magic, basking in the warm sunshine and the afterglow of our triumph. We’d opened the ‘Sensitive and Highly Incendiary Texts’ room to generous appreciation from the library staff, the Minister of Magic, the muggle Prime Minister, and several foreign professors, and I’d given a speech and demonstration without succumbing to a nervous breakdown.

“The muggle Prime Minister speaks five languages,” Malfoy said. “He spoke to me in German, for some reason.”

“I think that was as a joke,” I said, “because you were showing him the ‘ _Bavarian Banshees_ ’ volume, which is nonsensical, because banshees are Irish.”

“Someone just wanted to make a book that screams in German,” Malfoy agreed, “and it’s probably the only copy in existence for that reason.”

“I cannot believe we are finally done!” I crowed.

Malfoy tensed. He said hurriedly:

“But that Italian professor does want us to go to Florence to help with his school’s library.”

“Ah, Florence,” I smiled, “that sounds pretty rough.”

Malfoy visibly relaxed. He smirked and ran his fingers smoothly through his hair. It glinted like spun gold in the strong sunlight. Disgustingly, distractingly unfair.

“Let’s walk down to see the fort and grab a bifana on the way,” he suggested. “We can apparate back and catch the evening portkey.”

I didn’t want our time in Lisbon to end, so I slung my bag over my shoulder and nodded.

“I’m skipping the hot mustard this time though,” I warned.

“Ah,” he teased, “pitiful, Brit.”

   I didn’t need spicy mustard to make me feel suddenly hot all over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Hermione reads is the fabulous “Howl’s Moving Castle” by Diana Wynne Jones
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	16. It’s All Greek to Me

March 22nd, 2004: London

 

 

“What in Merlin’s name—” Ginny stood in my office’s doorway. “Did a wool shop explode in here?”

I glanced up from my knitting.

“It’s good to see you too,” I said. “I thought I was meeting you at Grimmauld?”

“I couldn’t stand another minute cooped up in there,” she replied airily. She carefully moved a pile of knitting from a chair to the desk and sat down, hands resting gently on her rounded belly. “Without Harry at home, Kreacher’s driving me mad.”

“Is he being awful?” I asked, surprised.

“No,” she growled. “Worse. He keeps popping up every two seconds, bringing me food, or checking if the house is a comfortable temperature, or asking if I’m thirsty, and bringing me cushions to put my feet up. It’s so annoyingly sweet, I can’t tell him off.”

“I see,” I laughed. Kreacher still gave me a wide berth whenever I visited the Potter residence, but he fiercely worshipped pureblooded Ginny.

“So what’s with the knitting?” Ginny asked, tilting forward to examine my handiwork.

“Well,” I explained, “with Harry and Draco gone, I’ve somehow become the go-to for every single question anyone has in this department.”

“Maybe because you always know the answer?” Ginny interrupted with a provoking smile.

I tutted at her.

“The knitting is a signal that it’s okay to talk to me.” I wound a loose loop of yarn back into its ball. “If I have a book or paperwork, they know to stay well away.”

“Who’d you have to hex?” Ginny smirked.

“Some intern from the DoM,” I said, blushing. “He kept on after me about a report that I took over just as a favour, despite our Italian Library project, and the caseload I’m dealing with for Harry!”

“Did this intern have to change his pants like that last one?” Ginny asked innocently.

“Oh, shut it, you,” I chastised, knitting faster. “But actually, yes.”

Ginny burst out laughing.

“A girl after my own heart,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. She poked at my substantial pile of finished items with her wand. “Is this one of those “displacement activities” you wrote that appallingly long paper about and made me read when I came up to see you that one time?”

“You actually read that?” I looked up again in astonishment.

“Um,” she picked up a tiny green jumper, “skimmed might be more accurate. Who’s Libby?”

“Er,” I froze and lost track of my stitches, “erm, just a friend’s, um...”

“This is _Slytherin_ green and silver,” she shook the jumper at me accusingly, “and we only like one Slytherin.”

I feigned deafness and began counting the stitches in the band of my Gryffindor themed baby cap. Thirty eight.

“You’re not supposed to keep interesting secrets from pregnant women. It’s in the rules,” she pouted.

“I have no secrets,” I protested, “interesting or otherwise.”

“Okay,” I could hear the eye roll in her tone. “What. Ever. Why are we about to go shopping for the dress of your life if you have no juicy secrets?”

“Maybe because I foolishly told a pregnant, temporarily unemployed, redheaded witch about a, purely professional, formal drinks reception this Saturday in Florence, and she insisted that I couldn’t possibly wear a perfectly fine dress from a previous event?”

“Pish.”

“Pish?”

“Pish posh.”

“Okay,” I picked up my knitting again, “your overwhelming argument has crumpled my defences.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ginny said blithely, waving a hand, “your protestations tell me everything I wanted to know.”

“I should never have read you Shakespeare,” I grumbled, knotting the final knot and biting the yarn off. “This is for your annoying baby.” I tossed the striped cap at her. “It’s charmed with a mild protection charm.”

Ginny held the little hat in her pale hands for a moment.

“They’ll be all right, won’t they?” She looked up at me with anxious eyes, and I understood her.

“The boys?” I asked.

“I mean,” she turned the hat around and around, “it’s only Serbia, not Siberia or something.”

“I think Harry would never have gone away so close to your due date if it wasn’t for something impossibly noble and important.”

“He said arms dealing,” Ginny fretted, “but I cannot figure out why he took Malfoy, of all people.”

“He really is brilliant with translations,” I told her guardedly, “and he has this way of just knowing what will put people at ease it tense situations.”

“Does he now?” Ginny smiled again, but then suddenly grimaced and pressed her hand to her belly. “Ooh, this child! He’s already stromping around like a moody teenager and he’s not even born yet.”

“I don’t think ‘stromping’ is—”

Ginny glared daggers at me, massaging her stomach aggressively.

“—was a real word until just this moment when you invented it. Just like Shakespeare did in days of yore, as a matter of fact.”

“Twenty five more days, and if he’s a day past his due date,” she said ominously, “ I’m going bungee jumping and shaking him out.”

“I think bungee jumping drops you upside down,” I mused, “so it might lodge him in more securely.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a know-it—”

“Never.”

“My favourite know-it-all,” Ginny beamed, patting my hand with great condescension.

 

~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~

 

“What about this one?” Ginny held up an ivory strapless gown with an ornate beaded waist.

“Really? It’s so bridal,” I scrunched my nose.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “I just wanted to see you make that face.”

“You’re not really helping that much,” I complained.

“I think we should stop and eat dinner,” she told me, “I’m starving.”

“I literally just...” I planted my hands on my hips, “I’m not going to say anything impolitic to a pregnant witch about hormones affecting the brain, but I believe I just suggested that BEFORE I struggled into this pink atrocity of a dress.”

“You do look like a giant prawn,” Ginny nodded, “which is probably what made me so hungry all of a sudden.”

“Ginevra Potter!” I started towards her, feeling for my wand in my thigh holster.

A tinkling chime rang from her bag

“Whoops! Saved by the bell.” She grabbed for her mobile and flipped it open. “Harry?”

I froze, ears straining to hear my friend’s voice.

“Yes, Hermione and I are dress shopping right now.”

I turned and ducked into the dressing room to change back into my blouse and trousers. I spent a little extra time fixing my ponytail so that Ginny could talk longer without me hovering. I came back out doing up my top button.

“Yes,” Ginny was nodding with a fresh smile, “I took the tube by myself. I only got on the train going the wrong way once, but it was that right train this time!” She cut her eyes over to me. “Is Malfoy there with you right now? What, are you sharing a bed or something?” She thrust the phone at me. “Here, talk to Malfoy.”

“What?” I protested, but moved the mobile to my ear reflexively.

“Granger?”

“H-hi, yes?” I sounded like an idiot.

“Tell Potterette that Belgrade’s only an hour ahead and we are waiting for our table at a restaurant.”

“They’re going to dinner,” I dutifully relayed, “and they’re only an hour ahead.”

“Riiiiight,” Ginny said.

“I finished all the Italian prep work for the Library and portkey applications,” I blurted, “so you don’t have to dread coming back.”

“I don’t dread it.”

“Oh.”

“Granger?”

“Yes?”

“I will be back to take that portkey to Florence with you on Friday.”

“Ah, good,” I said.

“They’re calling us for our table,” he said.

“Okay,” I hesitated, “then bye, I guess.”

“Right.” He rang off.

I handed the mobile back to a grinning Ginny.

“Your whole head is red, Miss _‘I don’t have any interesting secrets_.’”

“You are actually the worst friend,” I told her.


	17. But Thinking Makes it So

March 26th, 2004: London 

The waiting was growing unbearable. My hands longed for activity, but it would be rude to dig my knitting out while I still had a colleague sitting in my office. Anyway, I had purposefully packed and repacked my trusty old beaded bag for today’s Florence trip so many times to achieve a perfect balance, tucking my dress, wrapped carefully in tissue, safely on top of the stacks of books and files; summoning my knitting from the depths would likely cause catastrophe.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Sorry?” I jolted to attention. Sami must have started speaking again, but I hadn’t heard a word.

“Wouldn’t you agree that an international library cooperative would be a good idea?” He repeated politely.

He was always so polite, and lovely, and intelligent. And he was here, in my office, helping me. However, right now, I heartily wished that he was ‘not.’

“Yes,” I concurred, forcing my brain to focus, “and I think this project could lead to something like that.” I lifted a hand to rub my neck anxiously, but then caught myself and stopped. “At least we’re not dealing with books that want to kill us, or that will emit sulphurous gases if they don’t like the way they’ve been shelved. But, this current set of translations for Florence has already hit some snags that we avoided with the Lisbon project. For example, the college has an amazing collection of Greek texts, but they have multiple ‘editions,’ for lack of a better word, that are more accurately ‘translations.’ I’ll think I’ve got one topic sorted, and then discover, in Katharevousa, the same text that I’d already categorised in Ancient Greek and Demotic versions. I sometimes go down to the archives and cast a silencing charm and have a good old _cathartic_ scream.”

Sami didn’t laugh. He looked slightly bewildered. Draco would have at least groaned in pained acknowledgement of the weak wordplay.

Damn it, Draco Malfoy, where are you? I wanted Sami to go, go, go away! At least then I could run down to the visitor’s entrance and go up to Trafalgar Square and try to get a signal on my mobile and ask Ginny if she had heard anything about Harry and Draco’s return yet. If nothing else, that exercise would be better than sitting here worrying that something horrible had happened to cause this delay.

Maybe I could even just floo to Grimmauld Place...

“The Semitic languages pose a similar problem,” Sami said. “Although, sadly, there are fewer magical texts preserved in Akkadian than the Ancient—”

“I’m so glad you’ll be able to help us with that side of things,” I interrupted rudely, “especially the Farsi translations.” I stood. “Shall I walk with you down to catch your portkey?”

“Oh,” he looked at his watch in surprise, probably startled by my absurd behaviour, “I suppose it is getting close to the time—”

“You wouldn’t want to miss it,” I agreed as I felt for my wand up my sleeve, and then moved to the door.

He gathered his notes together at a glacial pace. I smoothed a hand over my hair, checking that it had maintained its restrictive plait in anticipation of my own portkey travel.

“Perhaps you can return to Baghdad soon to work on the translations with me,” Sami suggested.

“That would be nice.” I leaned out into the Malfoy-free corridor. “I’ll let you know if we can come after we’ve finished this Italian project, but it’s really only just started. Lisbon took us about six months.”

“Hermione,” he began.

“Oh, no!” I saw the back of Amy’s dark bob at the end of the hall, “hurry this way with me.” I grabbed Sami’s arm and dragged him around the back of the Auror’s offices. There was still a lot of open ground between us and escape, but I waited until I heard Amy’s laugh echoing back down the end of the department, and then chivvied Sami into the open lift.

“Granger! Ahoy, Granger!”

Worse and worse. Now Cormac McLaggen barrelled after us, hailing me like an incoming ship!

“Six, six, six,” I muttered, punching the poor button repeatedly. The perfidious door remained obstinately open, and Cormac oozed in.

I would not introduce him. I would not even acknowledge him.

“Ah,” he said loudly, “we’re headed to the same department. Thought so.” He held out a hand to Sami. “McLaggen, Cormac.”

“I am Sami Naasan.”

“You’re new,” Cormac disparaged.

“Sami is assisting my department as an expert consultant,” I snapped, “and is a highly respected professor at the Baghdad School of Magic.”

“How’s your Quidditch team?” Cormac demanded.

I growled. The lift doors finally clanged shut, and we lurched sideways.

“I am afraid,” Sami shook his head apologetically, “that we do not have a Quidditch team due to constraints of—”

“A school without Quidditch?” Cormac denounced. “Where is this place then, anyway?”

“Iraq,” I interrupted, “and if you didn’t know who Sami is, why on earth did you think we were heading down to Magical Transportation?”

“You’re going down to catch that portkey to Tuscany, and so am I,” Cormac said, as though it should be obvious.

“You are coming on my portkey?” I gaped. The lift bumped to a halt, and the doors struggled open, heaving us out into the thinly contained chaos of the Department of Magical Transportation. Queue after queue of departing witches and wizards, dressed with varying degrees of success in muggle attire, took up most of the main floor. Every so often a portkey either whirled away a party of travellers, or deposited one in a lurch of palpable magic. 

“The girl in your department, with the black hair, told me you had a portkey arranged already, so I can just come with you.”

“With...” I felt lightheaded.

“Yeah,” Cormac leered down at me, “and it saved me doing the paperwork.”

“What...I don’t...”

“Hey,” Cormac exclaimed as a tall man spun awkwardly into the offices clutching a battered pink plastic cup, “there’s Greenblatt. He’s been avoiding me.” He charged off towards the unfortunate Geeenblatt, whose miserable expression deepened at the sight of Cormac headed his way.

“What a confident person,” Sami commented. “Very interesting.”

“ _He_ certainly thinks so,” I said with a groan, “but he’s the kind of interesting I’d prefer to observe from a safe distance. With a telescope, possibly.”

“ _Ottawa in ten minutes, Nice in fifteen minutes, and Berne in twenty_ ,” a tall witch boomed across the crowd, “ _and be sure you know which queue you’re meant to be in_!” She lowered her voice to a pleading tone,“and Professor Scamander, Rolf, _please_ , for the last time, all magical beasts must be restrained in a Ministry Approved Carrier.”

“Not one of mine this time, Duck,” said the reedy, sun-browned young man whom the official addressed, as, grinning broadly, he neatly scooped up the culprit before it tumbled into Sami’s foot. The toffee-coloured puffskein eagerly accepted a bit of biscuit from Rolf’s pocket, and they wandered off to find its owner.

“Nice is my portkey,” Sami said.

“Mine’s in about half an hour,” I said, checking my watch.

“Coming through!”

We leapt out of the way of a panicked wizard who rushed by wearing striped pyjamas, dragging an overloaded trunk that sagged in spite of its levitation charm. He narrowly avoided collision with a wind-blown family who had just landed, all clinging to a black attaché case.

“Well,” I gasped, “maybe you should find your queue, or you may not survive until your turn.”

“Always, it is the same here,” Sami shook his head fondly, “with so much rushing about.”

“Everything at the last minute,” I agreed distractedly, turning to check the opening lift in case Malfoy had arrived at last. My heart sank when a pair of dark men in black Armani suits exited instead,

Sami and I moved closer to the roped off departure and arrival areas, weaving around mounds of baggage until we reached his queue point.

“Hermione,” Sami said, taking both of my hands so I faced him squarely, “when I asked you to come back to Baghdad to work on the translations together, I meant you. Just you.” He looked earnestly down at me, his expression full of meaning.

“Oh.” I gulped. A wave of heat flooded my body with unpleasant sensation. “Oh, Sami,” I tried, “I... I don’t know...”

But I did know. Why was I saying this? I liked Sami, very much, but the last thing I wanted was to give him the impression that I felt more than I did.

“Just please,” he interrupted, “just please consider it.”

“Okay.” I nodded gloomily.

He bent down and kissed my cheek. The whoosh of a portkey jostled me sideways, and I used the momentum to withdraw my hands from Sami’s grasp as he straightened.

“Oh,” I turned to apologise to the incoming traveller, “I am so sorry— Malfoy!”

Draco stood, holding a dented copper teakettle, and looking like he hadn’t slept in a month. He chucked his used portkey into an overflowing crate of miscellaneous items near the wall, and stumbled half a step towards me.

An entirely different wave of heat rushed through me, tinged by a thrill of alarm. I couldn’t remember seeing Draco look so haggard since his Wizengamot trial over five years earlier, and that instance had been after he had just spent a week in Azkaban.

“Goodbye, Sami,” I said firmly. I took Draco’s arm, tugging him gently towards an empty bench away from the crowds.

“I’m alright, Granger,” Draco muttered, but when we sat down he twisted his hand around to twine his fingers securely through mine. He rested his head against the wall with his eyes closed.

“I have a million and one questions,” I joked lightly, studying the dark circles under his eyes. His nose sported a sunburnt tip that was starting to peel, but he seemed otherwise whole.

“I know.” He smirked, eyes still shut. “Did I make it in time for the portkey?”

“Plenty of time,” I fibbed, “almost twenty minutes to spare.”

“Okay,” he mumbled. His eyes snapped open. “What was Naasan doing here?”

“Oh,” I jumped, withdrawing my hand nervously from his, “Sami stopped by to help with some of the transla—”

“Malfoy!” Cormac sauntered up to us, “looking a bit feeble there, aren’t you? I guess not every wizard takes to portkey travel, you know?”

“Cormac,” I hissed, “for once in your life..”

“ _Special license to Florence, thirteen minutes_ ,” bellowed the portkey agent.

“Ah,” Cormac brightened, “that’ll be us.” He strode away back to the queues.

“Us?” Malfoy asked darkly.

“It’s a long story,” I prevaricated. “Look, are you really well enough to go?”

“I said I’m alright, Granger,” he snarled.

I jerked back, stung. Checking my wand and bag again, I rose from the bench.

“Fine,” I conceded, “good.” I marched away from him to join Cormac at our portkey.

“Look me up when you get back,” Cormac was boasting to a purple-haired witch in the queue for the portkey ahead of us, “and I’ll get you a couple tickets for the World Cup. I’m in charge of arranging the international portkeys for all of Europe.”

I stood next to him, ignoring Malfoy when he walked slowly up. The two of us waited in silence; a pair of frosty statues amid the boiling flow of weekend holiday traffic that bubbled loudly around us.

“ _Florence_!” A rotund wizard announced, handing an empty wine bottle to Cormac.

“That’s the spirit,” Cormac joked, twirling the portkey dangerously close to the wizard’s face. “Good choice, Granger.” He pointed the bottle at me.

“You don’t get to _choose_ your portkey item, McLaggen.” I stared at him. “How did _you_ get selected to arrange transportation for all of Europe to the World Cup, if I may ask?”

“Boss thought my people skills were an asset best used out in the field,” Cormac bragged. “She said I’m too valuable to be kept back only in the offices.”

I longed to share a look with Draco, but I bit my lip instead.

“I’ll bet she did.” I nodded.

“Thirty seconds,” the portkey agent warned us.

We each took a firm hold of the wine bottle. Even Malfoy’s hand looked tired.

“Elbows in,” Cormac reminded us with authority.

The bottle glowed blue, and we were yanked away from London


	18. Is This a Dagger Which I See Before Me—

March 26th: Florence, Italy

It was a room for honeymoons; a strange, “something” between decadent palace, and austere, light-filled convent. With a high, white plastered ceiling and pale pastel walls, the simple walnut bed and set of plush chairs looked strikingly luxurious. An ornately gilded mirror above the dressing table reflected the perfect view, across the Arno, of a campanile that peeped up right above the National Central Library. When I leaned out the window, just so, I could see a delicious slice of Ponte Vecchio stretching across the river on its delicate arches.

“I think it is too cold,” declared the cheerful girl who had brought me to my room, “but you English always enjoy the window open, yes?”

“That’s fine. Gorgeous,” I nodded, “thank you.”

“Where is your bags?” She inquired, lingering in my doorway.

“Oh, um,” I faltered, clutching my small beaded bag close. This was the only awkward part about staying in a muggle hotel.

“You have the most marvellous hair,” the girl veered away conversationally. “It is like a Madonna. Like a soft cloud. Mine is straight straight. Blah.” She swished her smooth mahogany strands in demonstration.

“There are many days I would love to trade my hair with yours,” I laughed, “but we should probably be careful what we wish for.”

“When I am old enough I am going to the school to make everyone hair look _bella_ ,” she informed me.

“That sounds wonderful.” I couldn’t help smiling at my new friend. “My name is Hermione,” I told her.

“Her-my-nee,” she tried. “Her-my-nee. I am Paola.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Paola.” I hesitated. “I am going to a fancy party tomorrow night. Maybe you could give me some tips for my hair?”

“Tips? Tips?” She tilted her head like a confused puppy.

“Suggestions? Ideas?” I flushed, wishing I’d switched to using my translation charm.

“Oh!” She clapped her hands together in delight, “I will love to help your hair. I will come tomorrow before.”

“That will be so amazing,” I grinned, “I can’t wait.”

“Okay,” Paola waved, “ciao, ciao, Her-my-nee!” She tripped off away down the corridor.

I shut the door with a flick of my concealed wand, and flopped back on the downy soft bed. It had been an extremely long day already, and there was still another social engagement to attend.

We had ditched McLaggen at the Santa Maria Novella portkey office, gratefully leaving him alone to deal with his own paperwork and translation woes. Professore Marchetti met us there to take us to the library for our presentation, leading us out into the warm glow of sunshine, and starting up a discussion with the same easy flow we had shared at the Lisbon library’s opening.

Only Malfoy’s unusual reserve cast a slight shadow over the day’s proceedings. He had answered the staff’s questions in a professional, thoughtful manner, but didn’t exercise his normal suave charm among the curious students of the college. I felt the difference, hesitating more over my speech, and chattering faster than I intended as I explained the catalogue and translation processes. Despite my poor performance, everyone expressed great enthusiasm over the ideas, offering their time and skills to facilitate the project, and approaching us with their calendars ready to schedule future meetings.

By any accounting, it was an excellent start.

It just didn’t feel excellent.

The past few hours blurred as I lay quietly on my bed, thinking. Draco Malfoy was somewhere in this same hotel, in his own pastel room, but for all intents and purposes, might as well have still been six hundred miles away in Serbia.

Had I really been so anxious over him not twelve hours ago? Had all the stress of the past weeks just been nerves about working on this enormous project by myself while my supposed partner went off on an adventure without me?

But I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. The nightmares and worries hadn’t been of standing up to give a speech with no Malfoy there pulling his weight. The dread had been that something awful would happen and they would be hurt, or they wouldn’t come home. They: my best, oldest, most loyal friend, and Draco Malfoy.

A queasy, pre-exam type of anxiety sank over me as I remembered the swift, dangerous rush I had experienced seeing him back safe in London, and the perfect way it felt to have our fingers interlocked, both of us giving and relying in equal measure as we sat for half a moment on that hard, institutional bench in the Ministry.

Something was still missing.

“Stupid, moody boys,” I said aloud in my sunny hotel room.

“Bzzt,” said my mobile from my jacket pocket. I pulled it out and flipped it open.

“Ginny?”

“Hermione! Finally!” Ginny sounded annoyed.

“Is the baby—” I bolted upright.

“No, no, no,” she assured me in a rush, “I’ve just been trying to call you all day and you never called back. Although, this baby is really pushing his luck tonight.”

“We were at the college,” I explained, “and the stabilisation charms around it are seriously strong since it is right in the centre of Florence.”

“So, Malfoy made it in time?”

“Barely.”

“Harry was really worried,” Ginny said.

“What? Why? Weren’t they together?”

“I guess—ouch!”

“Gin?”

“This little brat keeps doing backflips. I think he’s destined to be a Seeker like Harry. Although, Chasers have a better chance of...”

“Ginevra...” I whinged.

“Malfoy. Right.” I heard a deep inhalation. “Harry stayed as long as he could, but Malfoy sent him home because of the baby. As far as I can tell from what Harry’s said, the officials in Bucharest, on the way back, held Malfoy up because of his... Dark Mark.”

I felt suddenly sick.

“Harry left him in Romania?”

“He didn’t want to,” Ginny said, slightly defensively, “but Malfoy insisted, he said.”

“Oh, Merlin,” I groaned.

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed.

“Did Harry tell you what they were even doing?”

“Not...exactly...”

“Ginny!”

“Look,” she prevaricated, “you can come over when you get back, but I don’t think I should talk about it over the phone. Harry was very cagey—hush hush, cloak and dagger stuff. You know how the Auror department is.”

“Fine,” I shot, “but you tell Harry that I’m seriously done with this ‘not giving Hermione important information,’ business.”

“Oh, he knoooows,” she assured me.

 

~•~~•~~•~

 

“Can you ring the room of Draco Malfoy for me, please?” I asked the stern man behind the hotel’s reception desk.

“Signor Malfoy has just gone out.”

“Out?”

“Si.”

“Ah.” I stared at him.

“Can I assist you with anything else, Signorina?”

“No. Grazie.”

I walked out of the hotel and across the street. The Arno, wide and quiet, mirrored the beautiful lengths of buildings along its banks with a soft tinge of the afternoon sun. I still had two hours until Professore Marchetti would come to take us to dinner, and still almost an hour and a half until sunset, and I was in one of the most spectacular cities in the world, feeling like a wilted flower.

“Snap out of it,” I told the iron lamppost next to me.

“Ciao, ciao!” A scooter zipped past me with two bareheaded youths aboard, laughing and waving their arms about recklessly.

I shouldered my bag and started walking toward Ponte Vecchio. As I neared the bridge, the pedestrian traffic increased, so I took a dog-leg up the Scalea del Monte, a long set of shallow stairs leading to a Piazzale at the top.

Thoroughly winded from the climb by the time I reached the final step, I was dismayed to find a fleet of buses disgorging mobs of noisy, camera-laden tourists into the car park below the viewpoint. I crossed the road to the Piazzale and paused for a moment to catch my breath. The stunning panorama of a Florence, soaked in evening sunshine, was worth pausing for a few minutes of admiration, regardless of the excited, chattering tour groups and the din of clicking shutters.

I left the crowd behind and continued up the hill until I reached San Miniato Church. One lone artist sat outside the steps on a rickety stool behind an easel, gazing out across the city with a dreamy expression. I settled onto the low wall nearby, swinging my legs over and leaning back against a pillar.

Would it be the most completely naff move to dig out my knitting? With only one painter around, who didn’t even appear to have her brushes out, who would notice enough to care? I opened my bag with painstaking care, keeping one eye on the artist, reached in, and silently summoned my knitting to my hand. I counted rows and began a line of purl stitches, silently tracking my progress for some time as I watched the sun dip under the wisps of clouds towards the horizon.

“Are you British?”

“Oh!” I snapped to attention at the artist’s American accent. “Yes.” I held up my half finished scarf with a laugh, “how’d you guess?”

“It wasn’t the knitting,” the young woman chuckled, “it was the fact that you aren’t wearing a heavy coat, and the Italians still think it’s the middle of winter. American tourists don’t usually make it up this far, and if they do, they always have a camera.”

“You sound very expert,” I joked.

“I’ve been here studying art since September,” she smiled, “and this is my favourite spot. It’s kind of far away, but the light hits the Duomo at a slightly different angle every evening, and this is the best place to catch it.”

“It is incredible,” I agreed.

“My tutor doesn’t like it,” she sighed, “because I only do any work about half the time. ‘You will only see so many sunsets,’ she scolds, but sometimes I just want to experience the light instead of documenting it, you know?”

I nodded.

“‘ _This above all: to thine own self be true. And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man_ ,’” I quoted. “Shakespeare would be on your side, I think. Or at least Polonius, which I’m not sure is a strong argument for your tutor.”

We both laughed, and as we watched, the last soft rays of the dying day limned the magnificent dome in brilliant gold. I tucked my knitting back into my bag with a sigh. The artist stood and folded up her easel and stool.

“Thanks for sharing your sunset with me,” she said.

“I thought it was your sunset?” I laughed.

“There’ll be another one tomorrow.” She shrugged. “Buona notte, Knitting Girl.”

“Buona notte,” I echoed.

She disappeared behind the church through the olive grove, and I headed back down the opposite way to the hotel.

~•~~•~~•~

 

“Are you hungry?”

The question, so normal, still startled me out of a reverie. I turned sharply to stare at Malfoy. He looked marginally more human than he had this morning, but the air of taciturn aloofness he had shown at the college remained. I wanted to ask about his portkey issues in Bucharest, yet I didn’t fancy having my head snapped off as it had been the last time I had asked him a question, so I frowned and nodded.

“Starving.”

I turned my gaze out the window of our hotel’s common area and focused on the dancing reflection of the lights on the river. Malfoy drummed his fingers impatiently on the back of a velvet settee, and I could feel his eyes on me, a searching kind of watching.

I wanted to tell him about my walk up to the church, and ask him where he had gone when he went out, and shake his stupid broad shoulders until he went back to being the Malfoy that had laughed with me in a dusty library in Lisbon, and fought a boggart with me in the mountains in China, and chuckled with me over my French friend’s love of the adverb “very” in the bustling streets of Oxford.

The caring about what he thought, and felt, and wanted had been creeping up on me for so long, that the potential loss of it, our almost-friendship, loomed like a distant Dementor—a sort of hazy vacuum of sadness.

“You did a good job today.” He sounded petulant, and I wheeled around in annoyance at the begrudging tone.

“Thanks, I suppose?”

“I guess having Naasan there to help you made it easier.” He glared out the window.

“Having Sami?” I said, baffled.

“At the Ministry.”

A lightbulb went off in my stodgy brain.

What an absolute child! He was angry because he thought I had replaced him with Sami Naasan.

I felt a crackle of magic skimming across my skin and sparking at my fingertips. I couldn’t decide whether to hex him with bat bogeys, or turn his hair Gryffindor red, or punch him on the end of his pointy, sunburnt nose.

Making _me_ feel guilty and miserable because his own pride had taken a hit! Gah! The only reason I had such an easy time with him gone was because the translation charm we had devised together felt so natural and intuitive, and made that side of the work a simple pleasure. I had said so in my speech, and our names were together there at the top of the pamphlet that he himself had handed out.

I stomped my brown Chelsea boot on the reception’s marble floor. Orange sparks shot up as though I’d stomped on a dying fire.

“You are unbelievable,” I began, taking a big breath, prepared to deliver a real ticking off, but at that moment, the receptionist rounded the corner and cleared his throat.

“There is a car,” he announced, gesturing to the door.

I spun on my heel and marched out the door. The scolding would have to wait. 


	19. —The Handle Toward My Hand?

March 27th, 2004: Florence, Italy

 

Someone was arguing loudly outside my window. At just gone seven in the morning, this felt like a bit much for a city where nobody had headed to bed the night before until it was the morning of today.

Oh. Now the duet of violent Italian turned to bubbly laughter, finally moving away from the hotel and across the street. I heard the sound of a bus braking, and the hiss of its door, followed by the dampening of the clamorous conversation.

My head hurt, just a little, and my eyelids resisted opening, with persuasive heaviness, against the bright sunlight that filled the room. I rolled over on the spacious expanse of mattress, intent on stealing another five minutes of sleep. But instead of a fluffy pillow, my cheek hit the sharp corner of something solid.

“Pants,” I groaned, tugging the book out from under my face. I’d promised myself I would stop falling asleep on hardback copies. At least paperbacks didn’t leave lines across my skin.

I blindly scrabbled my wand off of the nightstand and waved it in the direction of the curtains. They fluttered shut, and I finally opened my eyes to brave a new, vibrant morning in Florence.

And piles of Italian Magical Transportation’s portkey request forms.

And Draco Malfoy.

On the dawn of this fresh day, I could only feel relief that I hadn’t had the opportunity to lose my temper, and with it, all credibility as a witch who could remain discrete and professional amongst muggles, last night in the hotel’s foyer. Looking back I realised what a disaster it would have been. This wasn’t Hogwarts, where bat-bogey hexes were considered harmless hijinks. This was a professional trip for work.

On top of that, what right did I have to scold Draco Malfoy about anything? I wasn’t even really his superior in our office. He was an employee of... unspecified position... in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with whom I had been asked to work.

And as for being friends, well, friendly, maybe, and possibly even work friends...

But obviously not “friends” friends.

I rolled out of bed and limped to the bathroom. I didn’t look as bad as I felt. Could you get a hangover from overindulgence in pasta? Or enormous slabs of inch-thick steak? Surely my one glass of red wine, as strong is it had been, couldn’t do this much damage.

A quick shower helped, but I still had ages until the hotel started its breakfast, and my mind wouldn’t quite relinquish its futile attempt at sticking a logical relationship label on Malfoy.

Friends that were more than work friends, like Harry or Ron, would trust each other with personal problems. Work friends might go out to lunch occasionally on a work day, but “friend” friends would make plans outside of work, like on a weekend, or birthdays, and...

And on the subject of birthdays, friends would introduce each other to people they were dating, like women with wavy brown shoulder length hair who they took to fancy London restaurants with Blaise Zabini instead of attending a colleague’s birthday dinner.

I picked up “Shakespeare’s Collected Works” from the bed, and slumped down with it onto one of the plush chairs by the window. I twitched the curtain open, and looked out at the city, reluctantly admiring the singsong of life that floated up from the street. Merchants passed pushing trollies of wares to flog by the bridge or cathedral, and tourists already hurried by towards the bus stop, dragging wheeled suitcases or sleepy looking children.

Work friends was enough, I decided, ignoring the book on my lap, and if Malfoy was worried that he wouldn’t receive the appropriate credit for his contributions to our translation projects, then we would discuss that like mature, professional adults.

I abandoned my Shakespeare and started for the door. If I could figure out which room he was in, I could talk to Malfoy before breakfast and try to sort things out.

I flung the door open, and barrelled straight into Malfoy’s chest.

“Oof!” We both said, staggering apart.

“I came to see if you wanted to take a walk before breakfast,” he said awkwardly. “I already saved us a table.”

“Oh,” I felt my face turning red. So mature and professional, Hermione. “That sounds nice.”

I summoned a cardigan from the wardrobe and followed him to the lift. We rode down without speaking, and walked silently across the reception.

Awkwarder and awkwarder.

“You know,” I blurted as we began walking along the river towards the city centre, “Sami was only stopping by briefly yesterday morning when you came back.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” I hurried on, “he was up in Oxford for a lecture and came by to talk about helping us in the future with the Arabic and Farsi translations. He’s a friend, but I wouldn’t ever let him take your part of the project. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“I see.” Malfoy’s face looked blank, but instead of relaxing, his posture became more rigid.

Discouraged, I jammed my hands in my pockets and tried to keep up with his long strides, huffing for breath.

“Where do you want to go?” Malfoy asked abruptly.

“What?” I jumped, “um, oh. How about across to Santa Croce? That’s it, just there.” I pointed to the tip of a bell tower that rose above the Library.

He turned away without responding, and we walked across the Ponte alla Grazie in more silence.

The church and piazza were beautiful, but it was a relief to return to our hotel and sit at a lovely white table with a pot of steaming coffee, and have something to do instead of just not talk.

I could feel him staring again, but it simply confused me all the more. I tore apart a pastry dumbly, and stabbed at chunks of melon with displaced irritation.

“If we go up to your room,” he said, finally breaking the silence, “we can apparate to the Ministry together.”

“Fine,” I agreed, “that’s fine.”

Fine, fine, fine. So fine that I wanted to cry out my frustration and blast something apart with the most powerful _bombarda_ I could muster.

“Fine,” Malfoy echoed.

 

Forms, forms, everywhere forms! Without the lightening jollity we had once shared in former hours passed working together, the morning with Malfoy, spent completing stacks of individual portkey requests in triplicate, positively crawled by.

“We will be closing now,” said a tall wizard wearing an official maroon jacket of the Italian Transportation Department.

“For lunch?” I asked, looking up, bleary-eyed, from the paper that I had been mentally translating from Italian.

“No, no,” the official waved his arm in dismissal, “for the day. It is a half day. You may come back tomorrow to finish.”

“Oh, joy.” I wanted to bang my head on the desk.

Malfoy stood and straightened his stacks of forms. I looked up to catch him rubbing his hand across his eyes with a weary expression.

“Shall we walk back, do you think?” I asked lightly, trying to put every ounce of encouragement that I could into my tone.

Malfoy looked down at me and slowly smiled. He smiled an actual, tentative smile that turned up one corner of his lips.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “and I’ll buy you a gelato on the way.”

“Do you have money?” I teased, standing to stretch deliciously.

“A Malfoy is—“

“—never without money!” I interrupted, grinning.

“Euros, this time,” he smirked knowingly.

 

We meandered through Florence in an easy silence, enjoying our little cones of bacio gelato, and quietly admiring the beautiful buildings, piazzas, and monuments we passed. The pedestrian area teemed with people, but the prevailing mood was cheerful in the coolness of a spring afternoon, despite the long lines we saw queuing to enter the cathedral and then the Uffizi. Crossing Ponte Vecchio, we occasionally paused and pointed out an interesting item or piece of art, and things seemed almost back to normal. Not quite Lisbon amiability, but approaching it at last. 

When we turned along the river towards our hotel, I stopped. I wanted to suggest that we walk up to the Piazzale at the top of the hill, but the moment I thought to mention it, a wave of embarrassment flooded over me. It was such a... romantic place to visit, and I didn’t want to compromise our precarious camaraderie by making Malfoy uncomfortable. 

“Do you want to walk up to the Piazzale?” Malfoy asked instead. “It’s supposed to have an amazing view of the city.”

“I...” Goodness!

“If you’d rather not...”

“I do want to,” I burst out. “Yes.”

We turned the other direction, up the stairs, and climbed in silence, except for my huffing and puffing again. Malfoy wisely didn’t comment on my poor condition. The Piazzale was much less crowded than the night before. About a dozen or so couples wandered around or leaned over the low wall to admire the panorama, every so often snapping a discrete photo.

“Wow,” Malfoy breathed, resting his palms on the wall.

“I know.” I smiled, joining him. The view lacked the soft enchantment of my previous visit, but this time the reds and golds were striking in their vibrancy.

We stood that way for a long time, listening to the chatter of different languages around us, serenaded by the distant strains of a concertina playing a sweet tune down by the Arno.

“We’d better go back down,” I said after too short a while.

“I guess,” Malfoy sighed. He looked at me again like he had something to say, but then the look faded into uncertainty.

We walked back down the hill, neither quite as happy as we had been at the top of it.

 

 

“Granger,” Cormac McLaggen stood in the foyer as Malfoy and I entered our hotel, “I’ve been having a hell of a time.”

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“They told me at the Ministry that this was your hotel,” he rolled his eyes, “but this lady,” he gestured rudely to the woman behind the reception desk, “couldn’t understand that I just needed your room number. I’ve been trying for half an hour.”

The woman, who had spoken perfect English to me that morning at breakfast, scowled at the back of McLaggen’s head.

“I’m sure she understood you just fine,” I told him, annoyed by his embarrassing behaviour, “but it is a common policy to maintain the guests’ confidentiality. For which I am very grateful,” I added more loudly so the woman could hear.

She gave me a sympathetic smile and turned back to her guestbook.

“Shall I meet you down here at a quarter to seven?” Malfoy asked me, pointedly ignoring McLaggen.

“Yes,” I agreed hastily, longing to get Cormac away from any more innocent Italians, “quarter to seven.”

Malfoy stalked off to the lift and disappeared.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed, herding Cormac out of reception into the breakfast room.

“Well,” he puffed up, “I came to see if you wanted me to pick you up for the party tonight.”

I sagged against a pillar.

“You’re going tonight?”

“Of course,” he said, “I’m working closely with the Italian Ministry for the next two years.”

“I appreciate the thoughtfulness,” I lied, “but it’s only a five minute walk. I’ll see you there. Goodbye!” I hurried away before he could contaminate me any more with his horribleness.

 

At ten past six, Paola had yet to make an appearance. I had lain my dress out on my bed, and touched up my basic makeup, but I had no clue what to do with my hair if she didn’t turn up.

At a quarter past I hastened down to the reception to see if she was waiting for me there. As I paced across the plush carpet, I felt my mobile vibrate in my pocket. I whipped it out as fast as I could and ducked into the side corridor that led to the back stairs.

“Ginny?”

“Quit sounding so panicked every time you answer,” Ginny chided. “No baby yet.”

“Good. Okay,” I sighed.

“You getting ready for the big party now?” she asked. I could hear surreptitious slurping in the background. Probably orange juice.

“It’s not a big party,” I protested, “it’s just drinks and, sort of, mingling before dinner. They eat very late here.”

“Malfoy behaving himself?”

“Why are you constantly asking me that?” I snapped. “Malfoy’s fine, I guess. Still kind of grouchy.”

“Ron said that McLaggen butted in on your portkey. Maybe that has something to do with it.

“Ugh. If only Sami and I had been two minutes quicker, he might not have caught us.”

“Ron thinks it’s hilarious.”

“Well, Ron Weasley doesn’t have to be embarrassed by him in a foreign country, now does he?”

“Is he going to the thing tonight?”

I paused, thinking I had heard footsteps approaching, but no one appeared around the corner.

“Earth to Hermione!”

“Huh?”

“Is McLaggen going tonight?” Ginny repeated.

“Unfortunately, yes,” I twisted my hair over my shoulder nervously, “and there will be muggle government officials there.”

“McLaggen just won’t quit, will he?” she sympathised.

“His sole redeeming quality is his height, and only because it’s easy to spot him in a crowd and hide,” I agreed.

“Let’s hope so tonight,” Ginny laughed.

I heard footsteps again, for certain this time.

“There you are!” Paola rounded the corner, hands thrown up in exasperation, “you supposed to be in your room.”

“One second,” I told her with an apologetic grimace. “Gotta go, Gin.”

“Have fun,” Ginny rang off.

I stowed my mobile in my pocket.

“I’m not sure if I have time to do anything with my hair,” I started to explain to Paola. “I’m supposed to meet Malfoy—my colleague, I mean—down here in twenty minutes.”

“Is that the one with the white...” she mimed slicking back her hair, “...and the...” she put a finger on each side of her mouth and pulled the corners down with an exaggerated scowl.

“Err... yes?”

“Oh,” she said airily, waving a hand in the direction of the exit, “he go.”

“Go? I mean, went?” I stared in disbelief.

“I pass him in the black...” she pretended to shrug on a jacket and straighten a bow tie, clearly enjoying our game of charades.

“Oh.”

“But the woman must make the entrance at the party,” she declared, “so it is better this way. Come.” She took my arm and towed me along the corridor and up the stairs.

 

“Ow, ow!” Paola said admiringly.

I stood in front of the mirror in my room wearing my silky grey dress, and wondering desperately how Paola would manage to tame my unruly hair in such a short amount of time.

“The hair must be up,” she decided, “to show off the back.”

“But there isn’t a back,” I protested anxiously.

“Precise,” she said. She pushed me down onto the stool in front of the dressing table, and rummaged around in my meagre miscellany of hairstyling implements.

“This?” She held up the Chinese dragon comb. I had never worn it, but somehow the piece had ended up in my packing anyway.

“Oh,” I stalled, “um, isn’t that a little ostentatious?”

“Si,” she nodded in approval, “è perfetta.” Her slender hands gathered my hair with quick, nimble gestures, twisting it into agentle roll to one side. “The curl, they help to hold. My hair, it need pin, pin, pin.”

I watched in amazement as she tucked the roll around itself and, using the heavy silver comb, secured the whole mass in a loose, stylish knot just over my left ear. I turned my head to admire her work, and my gaze dropped involuntarily to check my scar. It was visible over the straps of the gown, but the comb glittered distractingly above it so that the blemish barely stood out against my pale throat.

“You’re incredible,” I breathed.

“Close mouth,” she warned belatedly as she engulfed my head in a cloud of hairspray.

I coughed and squinched my eyes shut.

“I do your eyes,” she commanded next, turning me to face her and brandishing a black pencil. “Hold still.”

 

Since Malfoy apparently had truly left instead of waiting for me at the hotel, Paola generously offered to walk me to the party. She kept my arm through hers the whole way, grinning and shouting back at the boys who tried to follow us every so often. They shouted:

“Bella! Bellissima!” Or, “Ciao, ciao Paola!” Or sometimes just whistled and slapped each other on the back.

“You must not smile at them,” Paola instructed, rather hypocritically, “because then they will follow you still.”

“I’ll remember,” I promised her solemnly, fighting to hide my own grin.

My bare back was slightly chilled, exposed as it was to the cool evening air, but I felt bolder and more glamorous than I had in a long time. I’d told Paola that the night was warm to me, coming from England, but I also intended to cast a stealthy warming charm as soon as she left me at the party. The heavy silver comb in my hair gave me an extra little boost of comforting confidence; a reminder of the time when Malfoy and I had shared such a feeling of success riding down the mountain together in that hot train compartment in Xinjiang. 

“Bellissima,” she said when we reached the wide steps of the floodlit palace, “you will make every head turn.” She kissed my cheek warmly.

“Only because I’m ridiculously late,” I replied, laughing.

“No, no,” she pushed me up the steps, “you see, here comes another, later than you!”

Indeed, a tall, stylish couple walked up the steps with me and into the dazzling entryway. The wide staircase carried us up to an overly bright white hall that glittered with rows of chandeliers.

“Dottoressa Granger!” Professore Marchetti met me with a beaming smile and a flute of champagne, “you look like a fallen star! So radiant!” He guided me through the crowd, introducing me to a blur of faces, titles, and names that I knew I would barely be able to remember. I sipped my champagne and chatted happily back, finding the Italian easy with both magical and muggle guests. Everyone looked wonderful, but I didn’t need to apply my warming charm after all, as the number of admiring glances I received warmed my skin quite sufficiently.

I successfully avoided McLaggen twice; the first time by hearing his too-loud laugh headed my way, and the second by spotting him over the crowd. However, after nearly an hour, I had spoken to approximately twenty people, but had not even caught a glimpse of Malfoy anywhere.

“The translation charm you demonstrated yesterday is really most ingenious,” a petite, grey haired librarian praised. What was her name? Federica? Francesca? Feltrinelli? No, that last was a bookshop.

“Thank you,” I nodded gratefully at the approbation. “The foundation of it was initially developed by my colleague, Draco Malfoy, so much of the credit belongs to him.”

“Malfoy?” A stout wizard barked, “Lucius Malfoy’s son?”

“Ye-es.” I stiffened.

“Heard he came to a bad end,” the wizard told the petite witch, “was mixed up in all sorts of nastiness during that war they had in England. Dark stuff.”

I bristled.

“Actually,” I began coldly, but choked when I saw Cormac on a beeline towards us, “actually, if you would just excuse me—”

I ducked around the tall couple that had come into the palace with me, and edged towards a side door. When I looked through the passageway into the next room I saw the unmistakable back of Malfoy’s head just going in before me. I took a quicker stride, but then froze as I saw who he was joining.

“It always has to be business with you, Blaise,” Malfoy drawled, handing a flute of champagne to the tall dark man who leaned lazily against a marble topped table.

“You might be better off if you’d start focusing on business a little more yourself, instead of running around after that pathetic mudblood,” Blaise observed.

I pressed myself flat behind the angled door.

Malfoy snorted.

“Just tell me what you really want.” Draco sounded weary. “This trip’s been enough of a waste of time as it is.”

“Things would be a lot simpler if you’d sell up and move to Italy,” Zabini said. “Nobody cares who you are here, just how much you’re able to pay to make things happen.”

“Yeah,” said a third man whose voice I didn’t recognise, “and there’s plenty of room for someone who’s willing to get his hands dirty.” The man chuckled. “We’ve heard all about what the Death Eaters got up to when no one was looking.”

“Malfoy’s clever at keeping his hands clean when it counts,” Zabini chided mockingly. “What would the mudblood think if she knew you’d been meeting with us?”

“She couldn’t care less what I do,” Malfoy stated coldly.

“Pity,” Zabini mocked, “but what’s the point of hanging around London if you aren’t even trying to shag the prissy bitch. What have you been doing the last year?”

“Don’t be so completely disgusting, Blaise,” Malfoy snapped.

 

I wanted to slide to the floor in humiliation, but I managed to feel my way back into thebright white main hall and set my champagne flute down on a tray instead of dropping it. My stomach churned with disgust, but things only got worse.

“Here’s Granger,” McLaggen announced, snagging my elbow and forcing me to a halt. “You were at a Quidditch World Cup once. Tell these gentlemen about it.”

“I—” the gentlemen looked at me curiously.

“Dated Viktor Krum, too, the minx!” McLaggen laughed loudly. “Quite a thing for Quidditch players. Ha, ha!”

“I’m so sorry,” I apologised to the two Italians who were muttering something about football and their own World Cup, obviously befuddled by McLaggen’s obtuseness, “I need to get some air.” I looked desperately over McLaggen’s shoulder and saw Malfoy only a few feet away, watching as my face heated with mortification. I spun on my heel, hearing McLaggen say as I went:

“Friends with Harry Potter too. Harry Potter? You’ve heard of him?”

 

 

I hurried from the crowded, overly lit hall to the stairs, suddenly feeling short of breath. I gripped the banister to steady myself.

"Leaving already?"

I turned to see Malfoy following me through the doorway, holding a flute of champagne. He leaned casually against the wall, exactly the picture of a bored aristocrat. I looked down at my hand on the smooth wood railing that gleamed from thousands of other hands polishing it over years of use. My own hand seemed small and totally detached from me. I could see it tremble, but felt no connection to it. What was wrong with me?

"Granger," Malfoy snapped impatiently. I looked back up at him, in his elegant muggle black tie, and it was like a strange force jolted me into speech.

"Yes," I managed a monosyllable without my voice cracking.

"Not enjoying yourself then?" His cold sneer was so perfectly typical. Typical of the old Malfoy that I had thought was almost gone, until tonight.

“He was appalling. He completely embarrassed me," I said, searching his sharp face, and unsure of whether I even meant McLaggen or Zabini. “Do you not even care?"

Care. Careful. Careless. I held my breath, feeling pathetic. Feeling like someone watching Hermione Granger crumble from the outside.

"You sound like you want me to be jealous." He looked me up and down appraisingly, and I felt smaller than I had in my whole life. My armour had cracked from the inside out, and I let the words spill through that crack.

"Of course!" I clutched my free hand to my side where an invisible knife was pushing slowly through my ribs. "Even that shallowest emotion of jealousy would prove that you have some depth of feeling, but if you can't even conjure the barest iota of...of protectiveness, then what..." I took a sharp breath in, “what are we? Not friends even?"

I continued to search his face but he kept his mask almost perfectly in place, except for two familiar slashes of scarlet, high on his pale cheekbones.

"No," he said with a bored drawl, "not friends. I have my friends."

The knife twisted in my ribs now. I nodded numbly, and he took a casual sip of his champagne.

"I suppose I haven't lost anything then," I said as I turned away. I caught my reflection in the window across the stairs, and the glint of silver in my hair taunted me. I reached up and felt for the comb in my updo and drew it out.The curls tumbled down my back as I held the green-eyed dragon in my palm. It winked at me, reflecting the glow from the candles on the wall sconces. I ran my thumb across the fine detail and the little garnet mouth that grinned so slyly and had enchanted me that dusty hot day in China.

I clenched my hand around the comb for a moment, and then set it carefully on a heavy grey pillar. I didn't run, or look back, or start crying, or do any of the things I expected of someone whose heart had just been broken. I walked down the stairs, out the door, and up the street to the hotel.

 

It was depressingly easy to undress, hang my gown carefully in the hotel room closet, and crawl under the downy comforter on my ridiculously large bed. I held my wand against my cheek and it felt familiar and safe and necessary. It felt smooth like the wood of the banister had under my trembling hand.

I closed my fingers around my wand and shut my eyes and slept.

 

It was much harder to get up the next day. The worst part was the feeling that this feeling was actually normal—that the last year was a bizarre sort of stage play that had drawn the curtain on the final performance last night, and now the show was permanently packed in.

I lay on my back, while the rising sun inched across my room, and studied the plaster ceiling. Cracks.

I rolled over on my side, still clutching my wand, and studied the plush chair. Faded.

I swung my legs out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom to answer the question "Are you really human?" My bladder insisted so.

"You were a fool," I told my reflection calmly. I didn't like the calm, nor the smudged makeup that I hadn't bothered to remove last night. It looked like bruises under my eyes. "You are a fool, and you never liked feeling foolish.” I nodded.

The hot shower clicked the morning into reality. There was still a final meeting with the Italian transportation officials, and then a portkey to catch. I dressed quickly and then packed the rest of my things with a couple of flicks of my wand. I wrote a brief note of thanks to leave for Paola, and set it on the dressing table. Twisting my damp hair into a plait over my shoulder, I left that beautiful room.

I don't know what I expected, but Draco Malfoy seated at our breakfast table was definitely not it. He looked hungover.

I only hesitated a moment as I exited the lift and caught sight of his silver blonde head bent over a folded newspaper, but he looked up at the door's ding and met my eye. I tilted my chin, I couldn't help it, and walked over to join him.

His right hand lay next to his cup of coffee, palm up, with a cream-coloured handkerchief wrapped around it.

"What happened?" I asked, coolly, I thought.

"Broken glass."

"Do you want me to heal it?"

He looked at me impassively. I sat down on my chair and took his hand on my knee. I unwrapped the handkerchief carefully and examined the gash. At least it looked clean and like he hadn't tried to mess with it while inebriated. I pressed his fingers flat and he let out a hiss, which I ignored.

I healed his hand with a touch of my wand and a nonverbal spell, and then moved my chair away from him.

"You should probably take the morning portkey back to England," I said, pouring myself a cup of aromatic coffee. "I just need to sign a few forms at the school, and then I'll take the afternoon portkey."

"What?" Malfoy's voice was dangerous.

"It isn't necessary for you to stay.” I looked over his shoulder out the open double doors. A vendor pushed a cart full of vibrant flowers past on the street, whistling cheerfully as he trundled over the pavings.

Malfoy slammed his healed hand on the table causing the cups to rattle in their saucers, but I steamrolled on:

"I understand that working with me has been trying and...uncomfortable for you, and while I was surprised that I didn't find...that it wasn't so for me, I see no reason for the arrangement to continue past its obvious stale-date."

"Granger, you're not-"

"I can perfectly easily finish the final forms here and there is no reason for you to stay. I'll speak with Harry about everything this evening."

"You aren't making sense, Granger," his voice turned mocking now. “Isn't that supposed to be your area of expertise, making sense?" His hand clenched around the hem of the white tablecloth, balling it into his fist.

"What doesn't make sense?" I looked at him now, biting my lip despite myself. "I don't need you, you don't need me, and we've gone on four months longer than I wa- than I agreed."

"Right," he sneered, releasing the tablecloth and leaning back in his chair carelessly. “And you thought in all that time you'd be able to peel back the scales with your persistent Goodness and find a new boy underneath, but all you've found is more scales, is that it?"

"It's not the scales," I swallowed, "I fully understand those, but the venom's hard to withstand, even with my own scales on."

"That's witty, really clever," he hissed, leaning forward with his elbows on the table as he glared at me witheringly. "So I'm now dismissed, back off to the Ministry, and had better hope Golden Girl Granger puts in a nice word for the ex-Death Eater with the tarnished name."

"You...you really don't know me at all," I stared at him in amazement. "How can that be, after, well, everything? How can...but, aren't you glad though? You never wanted... you always hated me, so what are we even fighting about? I'm cutting you loose."

"Right," he let out a bark of laughter. "I am--glad--to go back where the only reason I've stopped being spat on in the streets by total strangers is my association with you, and now that's done, isn't it?"

"There are worse things than spit," I rose angrily, “and if you can't stand England anymore, perhaps you should come work for Zabini. He and his mates seem to really rate the whole ex-Death Eater vibe."

Malfoy's bluster turned to alarmed confusion, then horrified understanding in the space of an instant. He leapt to his feet and reached for my arm.

"Don't," I choked. “You keep away from me."

"Wait, Granger," he reached out again as I turned.

Fool.

“Wait.”

I hesitated.

Stupid Fool.

I pushed down revulsion at my craving for his explanation, and let him spin me into an empty niche.

We both panted like spent sprinters, pressed together without speaking, and the humiliation of his heated closeness drove me away again.

So much spinning.

“Hermione.” He sounded furious, and this, the unfairness, made me blaze up at him again. How dare he try to be the furious one!

My mistake was looking up to meet his glare straight on. I was jerked gracelessly, with the unmistakable stab of legilimency, from the present into past. I knew that Malfoy was there, standing before me, but he was also in my mind; violating, searching, rapid and desperate, for an answer in my memory.

“McLaggen won’t quit, will he?”

“His sole redeeming quality is his height, and only because it’s easy to spot him in a crowd and hide.”

“Out!” I shoved Malfoy away with both hands.

He fell back, face whiter than a snowstorm, and I knew all that he’d overheard last night when I was speaking to Ginny, and what he now just realised. 

A misunderstanding. Stupid, childish, avoidable.

This though. Irreversible.

“How dare—” I sobbed, “how could you?”

“That was...” Low and horrified, his voice shook as he stumbled towards me. “I-I didn’t do...”

I spun once more and, with a crack I felt in my bones, apparated away.

 

~•~ ~•~ ~•~

 

My pulse thudded wildly as I completed the necessary documents at the Italian Magical Transportation Department, hardly aware of what I signed, shuffled, and duplicated with a hurried charm, and sick with the thought that Malfoy might burst in at any second and make a scene.

Oh, how we English abhorred the idea of a scene. The Italians lived and breathed drama, and even now I could hear a couple conversing raucously in the corridor who could be threatening to murder each other, or simply planning a romantic weekend away. The vibrancy of Italy had charmed, but now its piles of bureaucratic forms merely stoked my desire to flee.

I felt out of place, lonely, and desperate to go home.

“Bzztt.”

I snatched up my mobile.

“Ginny?”

“‘Mione?” Harry’s breathless voice crackled in my ear.

“Oh!” I stood hastily, toppling the uncomfortable chair I’d just vacated.

“Are you still in Italy?” Harry sounded panicked.

“Yes, but I can be to London in,” I checked my watch, “twenty five minutes.”

Forms be damned. It looked like I was taking the morning portkey.

“Molly says everything’s fine so far,” Harry’s anxious voice rose and fell.

“She’s the one to trust,” I said firmly. “Ginny will be brilliant. She is brilliant.”

I pinned the mobile between my ear and shoulder, and scrabbled papers together into a messy stack.

I could hear heavy breathing through the device.

“Harry?”

“I’m going to be a dad,” he stated.

“Not for long if you don’t get off the phone with me and attend to your labouring wife,” I suggested. “Ginny will kill you if you abandon her right now.”

“Shite. Yes.”

“Harry?”

He was gone without a goodbye, but I was heading out the door myself.

Life goes on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Billy Shakespeare would say: “it hitteth the fan.”


	20. Methinks it Were and Easy Leap

April 7th, 2004: Oxford 

 

Nothing I tried seemed to work.

I had knitted half a dozen items since returning from Italy, starting with an enormous scarf for Hagrid that I completed in record time in the corridor of St. Mungo’s in a bout of anxiety whilst waiting with the Weasleys for the arrival of James Sirius Potter. 

I had made a set of five hundred and seventeen flash cards translating Latin phrases, only stopping because I ran out of cards.

I had written down every single nasty thing I could remember that Draco Malfoy had ever said or done to me or my friends, starting with his superior sneer that very first day on the Hogwarts Express when I had accidentally bumped into him as Neville and I searched the train for the truant Trevor, and ending with his cowardly panic as Harry, Ron, and I, under the Invisibility Cloak, had raced past him during the battle at Hogwarts.

It was a long list.

And yet...

When I had gone to the British Museum to discuss the possibility of joining an upcoming archaeological expedition to Mosul with Doctor Baker, I had been drawn, irresistibly, back past the Assyrian winged lions, into the Egyptian exhibit, to stand before the black slab of the Rosetta Stone. Draco and I had stood before this stone for over an hour, just five months earlier, feverishly discussing the implications and applications that had sprung from the artefact’s discovery and subsequent deciphering, and comparing it to our ongoing Lisbon project.

And then, just yesterday, when I had left a particularly frustrating meeting with the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical creatures, seeking refuge in front of Turner’s _The Fighting Téméraire_ in the National Gallery, I had recalled my last visit, which had been, again, with Draco Malfoy. Horrified, I had dragged him across Trafalgar Square and straight in among the Impressionists upon hearing his claim to have never heard of Claude Monet. After appropriately admiring the _Water Lily Pond_ , we had wandered back in time through history, forgetting about the office and our impatient stacks of translations awaiting attention on my desk.

“No,” I had explained as we stood, a little footsore among the Medieval and Early Renaissance art, “Richard II and Jesus were definitely not contemporaneous.”

“Well, who’s this?” Draco had asked, pointing to the scruffy saint standing behind the kneeling blond-headed monarch.

“Erm...John the Baptist?”

“Why is he holding a Toy Poodle?”

“It’s...it’s...a lamb!” I had gasped with laughter. And that was the first time I had ever been thrown out of a museum.

Now, here in Oxford, things were just as bad. Right around the corner from this cafe where I sat, waiting for a tardy Helene, Draco had once stood outside the Ashmolean in the broiling sun with his _Narnia_ book, waiting to go into a hot, stuffy museum to make me happy.

“There you are!” Helene exclaimed as she entered the coffee shop, sounding for all the world as though she had been the one waiting on me. “It was so impossible to find the parking spot,” she complained. “The traffic is so very, very bad in Oxford.”

“Well,” I smiled weakly, “at least you made it.”

“Yes,” she shook off her rain-soaked jacket and settled into the seat across from me, “and you have ordered us the tea, which is very, very good. It is a miserable day, no?”

I nodded, looking out the window at the downpour that washed the dreaming city in a cold, gloomy grey.

“And you have been in the sunshine,” Helene went on, “in beautiful Florence, and before that, Lisbon.” She smiled brightly, “and you look so well! The hard work must suit you.”

“It has been a lot of work,” I agreed, “hard work, but, yes—it has suited me. It has!”

Helene looked up from her cup of tea in surprise at my emphatic tone.

“Well,” she smiled, “so you must tell me all about it.”

And so I did, as much as I could, share the work that Malfoy and I had done, and the places we had travelled, and the amazing people we had met. I told her about staying in China, and then the flat in Lisbon, and the beautiful hotel on the Arno, and it hurt, a little, but even more so, made a tingling indignation start to grow within me.

We had done good work—amazing work, and I wouldn’t be Hermione Granger if I let some stuck up prat of a wizard diminish the sense of accomplishment I felt. Draco Malfoy may have considered the Florence trip “enough of a waste of time,” but that wouldn’t stop me from seeing the project through. If he didn’t respect me as a colleague, well, I would just find someone else to help me that did.

“You have a look on your face,” Helene said suddenly. “It is reminding me of the time you found out that that library was going to cull all of their works by local authors, and you started that organisation. What was it called?”

“The Society for Protection of Artistic and Intellectual Diversity.”

“I’m only surprised you didn’t make up badges,” Helene said, “S.P.A.I.D., but you were successful.”

“Yes,” I grinned, “I was.”

 

Helene drove me through the rain back to Oxford station. I decided to take the train instead of apparating home. I had a lot of thinking to do.

 

~•~~•~~•~

 

April 8th: London

 

“Harry,” I called quietly through the floo, “can I come through now?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered back, “come on in.”

I stepped through the green flames, clutching my bounty to my chest protectively.

“Ugh,” I complained in an undertone, stamping the ash off as I stepped out of the fireplace into Grimmauld’s vaulted kitchen, “I hate flooing when my hair’s wet.”

“Paper said the weather should start clearing tomorrow,” Harry said.

“You read the paper now?” I asked, only halfway joking.

“It’s a very, very recent development,” he chuckled softly, “acquired because it is a very, very quiet activity.”

“Is James a pretty light sleeper?” I set my packages on the broad kitchen table and dropped my damp bag onto a chair.

“James sleeps like a log,” Harry said ruefully, “for small chunks at a time, that is, but it’s more than my life’s worth to wake Gin up when she finally gets a chance of her own.”

“I know she was having trouble the last couple of months too.”

“She is amazing,” Harry said warmly.

I noticed he had dark circles under his own eyes, and I stepped around the table and enfolded him in a firm hug.

“So, how are you doing, then?”

“I didn’t think I could ever be this terrified about anything in my entire life,” he murmured shakily against my hair, squeezing me tightly back.

“It’s pretty monumental,” I agreed, “but maybe my present will distract you for a moment or two.”

“More knitting?” he joked, releasing me and turning to inspect the paper sacks curiously.

“No-ooo,” I growled darkly, “but any more cracks about my coping mechanisms, and you can’t have what I brought.” I twirled my wand menacingly, but Harry only grinned at me.

“I’m not saying I don’t need another pair of left-handed mittens,” he protested.

“Right,” I snatched up one paper parcel, “this is going in the bin, then.” But I held the bag up and flicked my wand to remove the water repelling and warming charms.

“I smell chips...” Harry groaned, sinking into the chair next to me with a blissful expression.

“And fish.” I beamed.

Harry wandlessly summoned two plates from the open cupboard, and I doled out the bounty, giving him a generous portion.

“The other one’s for Ginny and Kreacher,” I told him, “and the charms should keep it fresh for a couple more hours.”

“You win ‘visitor of the week,’” Harry groaned, shoving a fat chip into his mouth.

“Finally!”

“I didn’t think you and Malfoy’d forgive us for cutting your Italy trip short,” Harry said, stirring two chips through a puddle of brown sauce.

I froze.

Since Harry had been out of the Department for the last week and a half, it had seemed like the wrong time to tell him about what had really happened between me and Malfoy in Florence.

How to explain it was a whole other dilemma in itself.

What had happened?

We had gone to a party and I’d had my feelings hurt.

Crushed, was more like it, but that wasn’t a comfortable reason to give to explain wishing to end a successful, working, professional partnership that only had four weeks to the day left now until its natural end. Especially if I could continue to avoid Malfoy for those four weeks.

Then there was the legilimency. As awful as it had felt to have someone I trusted fail me that way, my own guilt rose up each time I wanted to condemn Malfoy for the betrayal. I had deliberately modified my own parents’ memories without their knowledge or consent, and it hadn’t been some impulsive, impetuous decision in the heat of charged emotions.

None of these things let Malfoy off the hook. I still wanted to yell, and kick him, and demand an explanation for...everything, but I also felt embarrassed by the weight of how much I cared about it all, and somehow still didn’t want to make my friends think badly of him.

“Malfoy was a total git in Belgrade,” Harry said absently. “Well, maybe not a total git, but bloody annoying anyway.”

“What? What do you mean?” I demanded, straightening in my seat.

“Well,” Harry said thoughtfully, “I mean, it was all weird to begin with, how he changed his mind about going to help at the last second.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Interpol have been working on this case for over a year,” Harry explained, “and they knew where the traffickers were getting the weapons and girls across the border, but there was some magical element that was obscuring their tracking capabilities, and the Serbian Ministry’s man couldn’t crack it.” He ate another bite of fish. “Wouldn’t crack it, Malfoy and I finally decided.”

I felt a rush of heat spread through me. Weapons and girls? How sickening.

“Why didn’t Malfoy want to go?” I asked tightly.

“It wasn’t part of our...agreement,” Harry said cagily, not meeting my eye. “You know how much he hates using his legilimency, because it was Bell—his aunt, I mean, who made him learn it. He did some of the Arabic translations, of course, but he said he wouldn’t go, up until you two came back from Lisbon.”

“Ah.” I clasped my hands together on my lap to keep them still.

“Well,” Harry continued, “I don’t know how you convinced him, but there’s no way they could’ve wrapped everything up without us both.”

“Why did it take so long?”

“Oh, we caught the wizard who was obliviating the border officials basically right away, but it took Malfoy ages to figure out where they had sent the girls. The wizard was really advanced at mind magic.”

“So, you found the girls they were trafficking?” I heard my voice shake a little.

“Yeah, thankfully.” Harry looked solemn for a moment.

“What about all this makes Malfoy a git then?” I asked, my tone unintentionally shrill.

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry rubbed a hand over his face, “we had to share a room in this tiny hotel, and he was forever going on and on about Florence, and the library, and your translation presentation. He had this little book and he insisted on telling me everything he read about the Medici’s, and if I never have to hear about the Italian Renaissance again it will be too soon.”

“That sounds,” I gulped convulsively, “a lot like Malfoy.”

“When they stopped him in Bucharest, I told him a million times you would be okay going to Florence on your own, but you should have seen his face when they wouldn’t let him take the portkey. I guess they had problems with Death Eaters coming over to Romania, trying to recruit vampires during the war, and it caused quite a bit of bad feeling. I didn’t even know Malfoy still had the dark mark.”

“But you came home.”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged, “I told him I’d stay, but I actually think he was trying to contact someone in Italy to send him money, and he didn’t want me there to see him bribe his way out of things.”

“Good grief.” I lay my head on my arms on the table, my brain spinning.

“Do you want to go into the library and play chess or something?” Harry asked, popping his last bite of fish into his mouth.

“No,” I stood up on wobbly legs, “no thanks. I’d better get home. It’s been a long week, but I’ll see you all on Saturday?”

“Definitely.” He rose and walked me to the fireplace. “Safe travels,” he said, giving me another quick hug.

“You too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday’s chapter will be posted first thing in the morning, so keep your eyes peeled for the update. X


	21. Action is Eloquence

April 10th, 2004: The Burrow

 

"Hermione, dear, it is so good to see you," Molly took the wrapped present from my hands, and swept me into a warm, somewhat floury hug, "I'm just finishing the cake but everyone's in the garden, and I'll be out in a moment."

"It's good to see you too, Mrs. Weasley," I smiled. "Has the birthday boy arrived yet?"

"No," she turned to pull two cake pans from the oven and then brushed her hands briskly on her apron, "Andromeda owled to say they'd be a bit late. Something about an incident with a broomstick."

"Oh dear," I grimaced, "Tonks was a great flyer, but maybe Teddy inherited her clumsy side too."

Molly chuckled and shooed me out of her kitchen into the sunny garden, a bowl of frosting now stirring itself in her arms.

"'Mione!" Ron's shout at my appearance turned the heads of everyone in the large group seated around the two long dining tables that had been set end to end.

"'Mione," Ron demanded, "tell Jemma about McGonagall's giant chess set."

"Ron," I groaned, "I only just got here. Have Harry tell it. Where is he?" I glanced around.

"Changing a nappy," Harry came up behind me. "Go to your Auntie Hermione, James," he deposited a squirming bundle in my arms. "He'll want to be walked about for a bit." Harry sank down on an empty chair next to Ginny, whose haggard expression mirrored his.

"I don't know what I'd have done if we'd had to host this party at Grimmauld Place," Ginny looked up at me with tired eyes. "Kreacher's completely obsessed with James, so he's been well looked after, but the place is in a state, and I haven'tcooked a proper meal in weeks. Mum's been brilliant. I'll never take her for granted again."

"You little darling," I kissed the lavender scented top of James's head, "have you been upsetting things?" I bounced lightly and snuggled him up against me. He wriggled until I began walking with him up and down the length of the garden, murmuring nonsense and endearments.

I felt a tug on the hem of my cardigan.

"When is Teddy going to be hewe?"

I looked down to find Victoire staring up at me, her wide blue eyes and waist length strawberry blond hair making her look like a miniature of her mother who was seated at the table next to Bill.

"I don't know sweetheart," I said, "but I'm sure he'll be along soon. It is his birthday..."

"I made him a vewy special pwesent," she told me in confidential tones, "and Mummy says we can't have cake until he has opened all the pwesents."

"I don't think you will need to worry about him opening the presents as soon as possible," I assured her, "but I think we have to eat dinner and let the cake cool so that it can be frosted..."

"Nanna will give me a vewy big piece of cake," she said, and scampered off.

I strolled around the side of the house away from the rowdy laughter, savouring the entirely undeserved satisfaction of having a warm baby drifting to sleep in my arms.

"Auntie Hermione!" Hurricane Teddy rushed through the gate and bear-hugged my legs.

"Happy Birthday!" I crouched down and hugged him back with one arm. "What happened to you?"

"Uncle Draco gave me a broomstick for my birthday!" Teddy beamed despite the huge purple bruise over one cheekbone. "I crashed it into a tree!" He sounded completely thrilled.

"He wouldn’t let me heal that, and after I told him not to fly higher than the garden wall," Andromeda sighed exasperatedly as she joined us, "but he wants to be a Chaser like his Aunt Ginny and won't listen to a word I say."

"He was doing well enough until he tried to loop the apple tree," Draco appeared at Andromeda's side, a bottle of wine in each hand, "but that broom's got a lot of speed for a six year old to handle."

I straightened, hugging James to me in shock. Andromeda strode past us into the house calling out to Molly. Teddy stayed at Draco's side and began jumping up and down, his hair shifting from turquoise to magenta to vivid yellow.

"Victoire was looking for you," I told Teddy. “Let’s go say hello to everyone in the back garden." I avoided looking at Malfoy again, but he was suddenly next to me and we were walking together, following a bounding Teddy back around the side of the Burrow.

"Granger..."

I walked faster, but my legs were no match for his longer stride. A cheer erupted from the group out back, signalling Teddy's arrival.

I rounded the corner, Malfoy a half step behind me, and nearly smacked into a laughing Arthur carrying a tray loaded with sandwiches.

"Well Hermione," he caught sight of Draco next to me and his happy grin became a trifle fixed. “Well then..."

I felt a guilty surge at the obvious embarrassment in his eyes as they darted from my face to Draco and back. The group fell silent.

"Malfoy's brought the Birthday Boy and a couple of very nice bottles of wine," I forced a cheerful smile and met Ginny's stormy expression quellingly, "and Teddy got a very interesting present already. Tell them all about it Teddy?" I looked encouragingly at the boy who regained everyone's attention by recounting his morning flying adventure.

"Welcome to the Burrow," Arthur said quietly, nodding to Malfoy. “You'll have to find yourself a seat."He hurried off with his sandwiches. Ginny rose purposefully and came over to us.

"You can sit next to Harry, Malfoy," she commanded, glaring steely eyed at Draco who made a small sound of protest. "James will want feeding, Hermione. Come along." She pushed me irresistibly through the kitchen door.

I sagged against the kitchen counter, and she took her son from me before sitting on a tall stool.

"Heavens!" she exclaimed, not at all quietly, "your face is whiter than a sheet! Are you okay?"

"What's the matter?" Molly and Andromeda bustled in from the pantry.

"Did you invite Draco, Mum?" Ginny asked idly as she flung a tea towel expertly over James and began nursing him.

"Oh," it was Molly's turn to look slightly guilty, "well, he's been spending so much time with Teddy and helping Andromeda this past year, and I saw him at the Ministry last week and he looked so thin, I just mentioned it. I don't think he really eats enough, do you?" This last was addressed to Andromeda who shook her head in a motherly way.

"So suddenly it's 'poor little neglected Malfoy' now?" I laughed, relieved to hear no bitterness in my laughter, but my brain was swimming through a sea of disorientation. "This is Malfoy, who made our lives a torment at school! He once tried to make Harry fall from his broom to his death by impersonating a Dementor! He wrote an entire song about how crap Ron was at Quidditch! He constantly tried to get Hagrid sacked, if not sent to Azkaban, he turned us all in to Umbridge, and he tried to get us killed in the Room of Requirement! Sort of," I added out of fairness.

"Well," Ginny was thoughtful, "all that does sound pretty bad, when you put it that way, but he seems to really like you now, at least."

"Not by half!" I laughed again, "you didn't hear... he still...he's still..."

"I know my nephew's a pampered pustule most of the time," Andromeda interrupted, "but he seems to be making an effort lately."

"B-but..." I stammered, struggling again.

"Ooh!" Ginny breathed as she tipped James over her shoulder and began patting his back gently, "remember those fancy badges he designed about Harry the Tri-Wizard year?" She stood, a mischievous grin on her face, "let's go ask how long it took him to make all those!"

"Ginevra Potter!" I hissed, chasing after her vainly. Why did everyone around me seem determined to bring Malfoy into the fold? Was this some kind of punishment for a bad deed I'd done? Had I stolen one ingredient too many from Snape's potions lab for an illicit purpose and now the universe was correcting me?

Malfoy was seated in Ginny's vacated chair between Harry and George, and I was pleased to see that he looked very uncomfortable, despite the fact that everyone around him had resumed raucous conversation, probably eased by the application of his, doubtless, very fine wine. He leapt up at our return, but Ginny waved him back down, and she and I sat together on a bench on the other side of the table.

"So Malfoy," Ginny said loudly, "remember in the Tri-Wizard year? Those fancy badges? How long did those take you to make?”

“Hey,” George interrupted, “I think I still have one of those.” He grinned. “You can have it if you want, Harry. I think it says ‘Potter Really, Really Stinks.’”

“That’s an improvement,” Harry rolled his eyes, “since they were so creative to begin with.”

“Potter Stinks,” Ginny shook her head, “we should find one for this Potter.” She wrinkled her nose and held James away from herself at arm’s-length. “You were just changed!” she scolded fondly.

“I spent all my time charming each badge individually,” Malfoy finally blurted, slumping defeatedly in his chair, “I didn’t have time to think of anything more clever.” His eyes cut over to me anxiously.

I glared back, determined to not look away.

Malfoy slowly straightened, holding my stare, and a tiny, hopeful smile glimmered at the corner of his lips.

I scowled more ferociously.

“You should have used a Protean Charm for the whole batch,” Ron called down the table, “and then you could have changed them to whatever you wanted later.”

“That’s advanced, even for N.E.W.T. level students,” Jemma protested.

Ron waved this aside: “Hermione did it the beginning of our fifth year.”

“But that’s Granger,” Malfoy said, matter of factly.

Everyone was looking at me.

“I remember the badges,” I said, keeping my eyes on Malfoy and ruthlessly ignoring the implied compliment, “ and I remember that you offered me one—as long as I didn’t touch your hand.”

His whole face turned scarlet, and the atmosphere around the tables chilled slightly.

“Well,” Malfoy said steadily, “any excuse...”

“To start a fight with Harry?” I snapped.

“...to get your attention.”

I huffed out a breath and folded my arms, but I could feel my own cheeks heating.

“Oh, fu—” Ron began loudly, but then cast an apologetic glance at the bench where Teddy and Victoire sat, heads together, “I mean, ‘sod off’, Malfoy, about the stupid badges. What about Harry’s epic battle with the Horntail? That’s still one of Charlie’s favourite stories.”

“I was zer as well,” Fleur reminded everyone testily.

“Yeah,” Bill said slyly, “but the Common Welsh Green, I mean, they’re practically pet lizards compared to a Horntail.”

“You ‘orrible brute!” Fleur declared, shoving his shoulder hard. But she followed this by bestowing an affectionate kiss to his scarred cheek and then snuggling firmly against his side.

“Ron, George,” Molly called from the kitchen doorway, “come help me bring the food out. And no magic!” she warned as Ron drew out his wand.

“Why not?” Ron grumbled, standing and slouching towards her instead.

“I’ve seen your wandwork, and I spent too many hours on this meal to have it wind up on the floor,” Molly replied, reaching out to tidy his collar.

Malfoy sprang up and hurried to help as well.

“Thank you, Draco,” Molly said, handing him an enormous basket of steaming rolls.

 

Dinner passed without any further awkward conversations, but Malfoy continued to stare at me throughout, maintaining an unprecedented taciturnity, and only responding politely to questions directed specifically to him.

“Anyone up for a little Quidditch later?” Bill asked as he pushed his empty plate away with a satisfied sigh.

“Merlin, yes!” Ginny pounced, “I haven’t been on a broom in ages.”

“Maybe in a while,” Harry groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Another amazing meal, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Thank you,” Molly beamed around the table at the exclamations of assent.

“Can we open pwesents now?” Victoire asked hopefully.

“Teddy will be ze one opening presents,” Fleur reminded her.

“Can we?” Teddy bounced on his bench.

“Of course,” Andromeda agreed, “once the dishes are cleared.

“I’ll get them,” I said quickly. I swung around off of the bench to stand, and flicked my wand. The dirty plates flew to the end of my table and settled into a neat pile. Another swish, and the cutlery followed with a more noisy clatter.

“Brava,” Ginny praised.

“Here,” said Malfoy, standing and picking up the stack of plates, “I’ll help.”

I frowned at him, but collected the cutlery in two fists and marched into the kitchen. Tossing them into the sink with a clang, I spun around to find Malfoy directly behind me.

“Why are you here?” I hissed as he set the plates carefully in the sink.

“I said I’d help you.” He turned on the tap and drenched the dishes with ten times the necessary amount of washing up liquid.

“Don’t play stupid.”

“I’m not playing—“

“Ha!” I laughed. It was too perfect. I watched as the sink rapidly filled with mounds and mounds of soap bubbles, quickly overflowing and spilling the suds out onto the kitchen floor.

“Shite,” Malfoy swore as we both reached for the tap at the same time. “Shite, shite, shite.”

“That’s a bad word,” Teddy announced, springing into the kitchen, grabbing each of our hands and dragging us back outside. “Come on, come on! I want to open my presents!” He pushed us down together onto one of the benches.

“Open mine fuwst!” Victoire shouted, shoving a sloppily spellotaped package into Teddy’s lap. 

He unwrapped a big lacquered box with messy flowers splotched all over it.

“Dat’s for your wocks and fings when we go fow walks,” Victoire explained proudly.

“It’s great!” Teddy proclaimed, admiring the gift as though it had been gilded with gold plate instead of primary coloured blobs of paint.

“This one’s from your Auntie Hermione,” Andromeda said, handing him my present.

I felt a wave of nervous anticipation. What would a set of illustrated _Chronicles of Narnia_ be to a six year old who had already received an expensive broomstick as a present?

Teddy tore off the paper and held up the first book.

“The Lion, the Witch, and the... War...Wardrobe,” he read. He looked up at me, glowing. “Thank you!” He clutched the book to his little chest, “Uncle Draco told me about this one, and I can already read most of _Bear Hunt_ and _Where the Wild Things are_! I’ll be able to read this one too, if I keep practicing.” He looked eagerly at Andromeda.

“You will,” she agreed, “and you’ll be teaching Victoire before we know it too, I think.”

Teddy quickly finished opening his presents, and a game of five to a side Quidditch started to take shape.

“It’ll only be even if you play, Hermione,” Ron wheedled as we all stood in the damp field around a motley pile of old broomsticks.

“Please, Auntie Hermione,” Teddy begged. “I want to play too.”

“Okay, alright!” I caved, “but I’m not playing Keeper again! I like my nose the way it is, thank you.”

“So Ginny, Hermione, Angelina, and Harry are Chasers with George as Keeper; then Jemma, Bill, Teddy, and Draco,—”

“I want to be on Aunt Ginny’s team!” Teddy interrupted desperately.

“Yeah!” Ginny high-fived him, “ace team!”

“Fine!” Ron threw up his hands, “Ginny, TEDDY, Harry...”

At last the teams were sorted, and the match began. The playing turned out to be remarkably even, with me and Teddy staying close to the ground and scooping up the Quaffle any time a Chaser dropped it. I didn’t fall off, and Teddy only took a few tumbles onto the soft, wet grass when he would try to swerve too fast.

 

As we walked back to the Burrow, windblown and exhilarated, Malfoy sidled up to me, a determined look on his face.

“Hermione,” he said, “I have to talk to you. Yesterday, at the Ministry—”

“I can’t believe you,” I growled, stopping and turning on him, “because you are unbelievable.”

“Please,” he said, stepping closer and lowering his voice, “just—”

“Luna!” Up ahead of us Ginny cried out in a surprised tone, veering towards the garden, “I thought you were still in Africa?”

“Just got back yesterday morning,” Luna replied, waving over the fence at us.

We all hurried through the gate and joined Luna and the tall girl standing with her.

“This is my friend, Prudence,” Luna introduced. “We met last year in the Congo when she patched me up after a Tebo accidentally knocked me down at the Preserve and I broke my collarbone. They are usually gentle,” she explained hastily, “but it can be tricky when they are frightened and go invisible.”

“I just wish I had been there this time,” Prudence said, her voice a gentle lilting of lightly accented French. She gestured to Luna’s right arm, which hung in a heavy sling.

“What happened?” Ginny asked.

“Oh,” Luna said dismissively, “I fell out of a tree in Botswana and shattered my humerus. A comminuted fracture, the doctor said, and she was muggle, so no Skelegrow. I was stunning boomslangs so they could be humanely culled. They are taking over the Fwooper Reserve there, and Rolf and I...I mean, Professor Scamander...” she blushed and looked embarrassed for the first time I had ever seen, “we were trying to relocate them, but in the end, we had to just make sure they were dealt with in a civilised way.”

“You cut your hair, too,” Ginny lamented, touching Luna’s jagged bob of dishwater blond strands.

“It kept getting caught in the tree limbs,” Luna said. “It’ll grow back.”

“There’s still plenty of food,” Molly offered, coming out of the kitchen carrying a fussing James. “I can make you two up a plate, if you’re hungry.”

“And thewe’s a cake!” Victoire reminded everyone.

“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Luna smiled, “but unfortunately we’re in a bit of a hurry. Actually, we’re just here to see Draco and Hermione.”

Thirteen pairs of eyes focused suddenly on me.

“What?” I gaped

“Didn’t you tell her?” Luna tilted her head at Draco questioningly.

“I was trying,” he protested.

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

“Let’s go somewhere quiet,” Luna suggested. “Pru’s a little nervous around so many magical people.”

“Oh,” I gave her friend a reassuring smile, “okay.”

The four of us walked around to the front of the house and sat on an old bit of chicken coop that leaned against the garden shed.

“Go on,” Luna prompted her friend, “they have a translation charm, so you can tell everything in French, if it’s easier.”

“Oui,” Prudence said nervously. “I am a doctor with the WHO. I have been in the Congo, the DRC, I mean, for almost ten years. My mother is Congolese, but she moved to France and met my father, who was a wizard. I didn’t have any magic, but they taught me all about the magical world, and helping people no matter what, and made me want to go to the place my mother had once loved so much, and make a difference there. I only meant to go for one year, but then I became involved in a school for girls, and it has become my heart.” She pressed a hand over her chest, and her face twisted in a pained expression.

“That’s why she needs help,” Malfoy interjected, looking at me urgently, “for the school.”

“I knew,” Luna said, “that this would be something you two could handle. Just like I told Draco that you two could handle that little problem in Xinjiang.”

“You told?” I burst out, “you were the one who told Malfoy about that boggart?”

“Well,” Luna said, “I didn’t know it was a boggart at the time.”

“It is something magical. Something dark,” Prudence said with a shudder. “I tried my own Ministry in Paris, but they said they did not have the resources to help us.” Her expression turned bitter. “What they mean is, ‘what are two deaths among the millions of deaths,’ and, ‘it is only Africa, after all.’”

“That’s why we came to see you at the Ministry yesterday,” Luna said, with very mild accusation, “but Draco told us you were working out of the British Library.”

Merlin! Was he spying on me or something? I looked at him sharply.

“I am very sorry to interrupt your party,” Prudence apologised, “but I must fly back tomorrow, and I didn’t know where else to turn.”

I studied Draco’s face carefully, and he didn’t flinch away.

“Okay,” I decided, “you had better tell me all about it.”


	22. Our Doubts are Traitors

“It is difficult to explain,” Prudence began, “what it means to have a safe place as a child or a woman in the Congo. The Second War has left the eastern Congo with few roads, scarce food supply, no clean water, and medical care and education so sparse and scattered that it is almost negligible. To walk from a village to the town for any reason is to risk violence, as a woman.”

   “I wasn’t allowed to leave the Tebo Preserve,” Luna added, “and even with my wand, the keepers didn’t like me going out into the Preserve alone.”

   “The school is about ten kilometres from the WHO hospital, which is just south of Ubundu, west of the river,” Prudence went on. “I knew when I first saw it, just a few huts and an open shed for a classroom, that it would be my calling to help the girls there. I was nineteen, and not qualified, so I traveled back and forth from Paris, despite the war, and became a doctor two years ago.”

   “That’s amazing,” I said, impressed and humbled. 

   “I met Luna last year because we, the WHO, travelled the country to give polio inoculations to all the children, and she came to our tent after her injury.”

   “She knew what a Tebo was,” Luna smiled, “and I could tell she knew a bit about magic, so we became friends.”

   “It was such a success, the inoculation campaign,” Prudence frowned again, “but when I returned home to the school it was to discover that something horrible had happened.”

   Luna took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

   “We had grown the school so that we had a new well, with fresh, clean water, and houses—proper houses—with strong doors and clean, hard-swept floors. We had about seven families that lived at the school, and a garden with a wall, and more girls came in the mornings to learn to be teachers, and I taught classes about nursing and other medical principles. Two of the girls that had been pupils when I first came, now taught the youngest children, and they sometimes came to the hospital to help and to learn. About forty girls came to the school, and were safe.” 

   Her voice quavered and she dropped her eyes to where her hand, intertwined with Luna’s, rested on her knee. 

   I felt a shiver of apprehension race through me, and looked over at Malfoy without thinking. 

   His face was grave and pale, and he met my glance with a serious expression.

   “A new family had come, with eight children, cousins and such, and the husband had been killed, leaving them helpless. We took them, but we didn’t have much room, so one of the teachers, my friend, Jémima, gave them her house and moved into one of the old huts on the edge of the compound.

   One night, about a week before I returned from the eastern border, Jémima disappeared from the hut.”

   “Oh, no,” I burst out, but in my heart, I somehow knew where this story was heading.

   “There had been a ceasefire last year,” Prudence nodded, “and there was less conflict between the rebels, but groups of armed men, and child soldiers, still roamed the jungles, and violence had begun to escalate again. We thought that she had been stolen away by one of those groups, but none of her things had been taken, and there was no sign of a fight.” Prudence looked up fiercely, “Jémima would have fought!”

   “That was in August,” Luna interjected, “and I’d already left for China and Kazakhstan.”

   “We didn’t know what had happened,” Prudence said, “and for six months it remained an awful mystery. Then a month ago, a mother who was quite ill, was staying alone in one of the houses, to keep the children from falling ill as well. When a night came, with clouds and no moon, she disappeared from the house without any trace. The door was locked from the inside, and only her blanket on the floor by her sleeping mat showed any sign of disturbance.”

   “Do you think...” I turned to Luna, “do you think you know what it was, too?”

   She nodded and looked at Draco for concurrence.

   “Lethifold,” he said solemnly. 

   “I don’t know anything about them,” I grimaced, “except that they are tropical, and prefer darkness. Have you ever heard of them in Africa though, Luna?”

   “No-o,” she said slowly, “but there are miles and miles of jungle in central Africa that European magizoologists have yet to even consider for exploration. And travel in the DRC was extremely restricted until last year.”

   “You need a seriously powerful patronus,” I said, “and even a patronus just drives the Lethifold away. It isn’t a permanent solution.”

   “That’s why they came to us,” Malfoy said quickly, “because we—”

   “There is no ‘us,’” I blazed up, “remember?”

   “Please,” Prudence said beseechingly, “please. I have no one left to ask.”

   I looked away, out over the hawthorn hedge that edged the garden, out over the peaceful green of the Devon farmland, a warm, orange-pink sunset softening its rolling patchwork into watercolour hues, and touching tumbledown stone walls with gentle gold.

   This. I had fought for this, and for the family in the crowded, love-filled house behind us, and the privilege of the peace we enjoyed to sit outside and laugh together, and have a pantry full of leftovers, and warm beds to embrace us after we had eaten too much birthday cake. 

   And this next thing, this inevitable calling, was fear, and uncertainty, and not knowing all the answers. And it was facing Draco Malfoy instead of locking him away as a bad memory. 

   A panicked, cowardly thought sprang up, to ask Luna to go, but she couldn’t apparate or take portkeys with a shattered humerus, and anyway, she would be in even more danger without the use of her wand arm.  

   Harry and Ginny had responsibilities now, bigger than me, and Ron—Ron wasn’t mine to ask for this. 

   “Can I just have a moment?” I asked desperately, launching up from the chicken coop. 

   Draco jumped up as well.

   “Uh, uh,” Luna said, sticking out her foot to stop him following me. “Sit, Draco.”

   I hurried away to the empty back garden again. I could hear laughter from the kitchen, and the scratchy sound of the Wizarding Wireless. 

   A potato headed gnome sauntered out from under an overgrown Flutterby bush and started kicking over small rocks, looking for worms, presumably. 

  I drew out my wand and ran it over my palm, taking in a deep, calming breath of lavender scented evening air. 

   “Gryffindor,” I said aloud. “You are brave, and daring, and a little reckless.”

    Walking the long way around the back of the house, I caught the tail end of Luna and Draco’s low conversation. 

   “I outstandingly screwed things up, Luna.”

   “Well, I forgave you for locking me in your dungeon once. Is what you did worse than that?”

   “That feels like a trick question.”

   “By the look on your face, Draco, I think the answer’s ‘yes.’”

   “I don’t—”

   “How do we get there?” I interrupted, making them spin around. 

   Luna beamed at me.

   “The least slow way is by about six portkeys,” she said eagerly, “unless you want to fly on a muggle airplane. I had to, coming back from Botswana.”

   “I have a lot to prepare,” I faltered, “so the portkeys make sense if we have to get there before the new moon.”

   “That would be next Monday,” Prudence said, rushing over, “and if you come on Saturday, you can take the train to Ubundu instead of driving all the way around and up from Kindu.”

   “I’ll come into the Ministry on Monday and we will sort it all out,” Luna said with an air of confident organisation that seemed newly acquired. “Pru’s flight is only in,” she pulled an ornate pocket-watch from her sling by a long, glittering chain, and flicked it open, “seven hours, and she has to drive back to Heathmow tonight.”

   “Heathrow,” I corrected automatically. 

   “I love you, Hermione,” Luna said, squeezing me with her good arm. “I know you two will smash this.”

   “If you can’t help us,” Prudence said, “the girls do not have anywhere else to go. The school is their only home.”

   “We will,” I straightened, placing a cautious hand on her arm, “we will come and help.”

   She pulled me into a tight hug, and I could feel her whole body shaking. I looked over her shoulder at Malfoy. He looked right back at me; terrified, and determined. 

   I mouthed at him:

   _“You have a lot of explaining to do."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated in the original notes, these later chapters include some intense scenes; even sanitised, the situation in the DRC could be disturbing to some readers, so please read with that in mind. 
> 
> Additionally, it is increasingly difficult for me to keep posting M, W, F, as in, I am too impatient, so...
> 
> I'm going to start posting the last five chapters, one per day, starting Monday the 22nd. Hope you continue to enjoy the adventure! Thanks so much for following. x


	23. And Make Us Lose the Good We Oft Might Win

April 15th, 2004: London

 

If I thought that five days would be enough time to sufficiently prepare to travel to a country I barely knew anything about, to tackle one of the darkest creatures of the magical world, and figure out how to deal with an inconstant, capricious, mercurial, agitating, perplexing, and, basically, bothersome and confounding consociate, I was wrong.

As I exited the bleak Ministry of Defence building into the clogging mizzle of a bitter London spring afternoon, I pulled my hood firmly down and tightened my raincoat’s belt. Across Whitehall, the horse at the gate stood resignedly with its ears laid flat, rain dripping down from its long nose. The guard on its back looked slightly more stoic, but the red plume of his helmet drooped depressingly in the damp.

I wished, as I passed, that I could pin my own ears back at the soggy weather, but at least I would be warm and dry inside again in a few more minutes.

It wasn’t really the weather dragging me down, for what self-respecting Briton would let a little precipitation slow them up? This was the way I always felt after leaving the MoD, like a volatile specimen that had just performed its trick for the Muggles, and, if you please, they’d let me know when they needed my interesting, hocus-pocus input again.

Not really a fair evaluation of the whole Department of Defence, I chided myself as I punched the code into the phone box at the MoM visitors’ entrance, but it only took one supercilious politician to poison the atmosphere in a meeting. I rode the lift down, anticipating with dread, the piles of paperwork I would find on my desk, knowing that I wouldn’t have time to properly address them all before catching our portkey in the morning.

I checked my watch. I would have about an hour to finalise my Florence report before the last owl post, and then four hours to clear up any other paperwork until Ministry Security kicked me out for the night.

I hurried across the Atrium, dangerously slippery from the traffic of wet feet, and waited impatiently for the lift. It was always a risk, standing out in the open like this, that someone would catch me to ask a longwinded question, or to angle for a favour. Good fortune this time, and I entered the lift alone.

As the lift lurched upward, I ran over my mental checklist, itching to dig my actual checklist out of my bag, but resisting with effort.

Sunday I had visited Hogwarts, combing the library—under the unrelenting eye of Madam Pince, who still gave me the impression that she believed I had a hand in defacing Harry’s Advanced Potions book back in sixth year—searching for any information about dealing with Lethifolds. For once, the Hogwarts library failed me, supplying no further help than I’d already uncovered in Newt Scamander’s second edition of _Fantastic Beasts_.

Even Hagrid, who usually exercised a wide generosity towards any and all magical creatures, looked nervous at the mention of a Lethifold.

“Nasty stuff,” he had said, looking down at me anxiously as we left the Great Hall after a sumptuous meal I had barely tasted, “nasty, dark stuff, creatures that won’ be reasoned with. Are ya sure ya should be goin’ with Lucius Malfoy’s boy?”

Monday, Luna had come to the Ministry as promised, and the two of us had scoured the sheaves and sheaves of international portkey schedules, trying to work backwards from Kisangani to London.

“There isn’t anything for it,” I had sighed, falling back in my desk chair. “If we want to arrive in time to catch the train, we will have to take these six.”

“I did warn you,” Luna had said cheerfully, extracting a honey-coloured Puffskein from the depths of her sling and feeding it a Parma Violet.

“I thought you were exaggerating,” I said.

“Not me,” she said, letting the chubby Puffskein amble across my desk. “I hope she doesn’t have her babies right now.”

“Luna!”

Tuesday I had spent ages in Diagon Alley, hunting down ready-made Essence of Dittany, and Wiz’s Water Filtration capsules, and dearly expensive Ashwinder Eggs. I had ended up at St. Mungo’s, begging a supply of Blood Replenishers from a reluctant Jemma, as they were only made to order now in these times of peace.

Yesterday I had picked up my antimalarials from the muggle chemist, cringing at the technician’s graphic description of the hallucinogenic effect the pills had had on her when she took them before a visit to Phuket during her gap year.

I had then spent the evening fretfully packing and repacking a freshly charmed rucksack, only realising on the fourth repack that I had neglected, among the piles of books, and medicine, and rain ponchos, and insect repellents, to include any changes of clothes.

And then this morning I had returned to the British Library, pawing through pages of newspaper that either glossed over the exploitations and abuses taking place in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, or reported them in horrifying, explicit detail. I found one current photograph of Kisangani, and none of Ubundu. I left the library feeling even less certain about the geography of the country.

Somehow, in all the chaos, Malfoy and I had managed to avoid each other. I had felt once, sitting in a dim reading room in the BL, that someone was watching me, but when I caught a flash of Slytherin green out of the corner of my eye, it had instantly winked away.

“Wishful thinking,” I mumbled as I walked from the lift into the DMLE and started for my office, “Malfoy can avoid confrontation with the worst of them.”

_Pot calling kettle...hallo-oo kettle!_

I made an about-face and turned instead towards Malfoy’s cubicle. Maybe I could collect his Florence report, and then we could talk about...

The cubicle was empty. Well, to be exact, it was Malfoyless. His black raincoat hung neatly on a hook, along with—a grey scarf that I had knitted for him when he and Harry were gone to Serbia!

I stepped around the desk and ran my hand over the knobbly wool. Not my absolute best work, stitch-wise, but the soft scarf and raincoat were both slightly damp. A clue that Malfoy had at least come to the Ministry today. But I had owled this scarf, along with Libby’s jumper, to Malfoy Manor the night before we had departed for Florence, which meant he would have received it after our...kick-off.

I looked around the cubicle for a sign of his Florence report. I could picture one of his tidy black folders, neatly bound, and waiting eagerly for me to stomp in and enquire after its whereabouts. I could almost see Malfoy, leaning back in his chair with a smirk, and drawing the report out of his desk drawer, handing it over with a snide query about my weekend plans.

What a prat.

I moved towards the desk, eyes on that drawer, experiencing an odd pang of intrigue mixed with guilty indecision. It was a desk drawer, not a locked diary with little hearts all over it. I paused, my hand to the handle, and thought about how I would feel if Malfoy went and poked through my desk’s drawers. He had probably jinxed it to explode or hex me if I did try to open it.

I yanked the drawer open, sensing a pleasant spark of magic, but nothing worse, and stared at its contents in surprise.

There wasn’t a hint of any Florence report, but sitting on the copy of _the Hobbit_ that I had gifted Draco at Christmas, rested my glittering, teasing, silver dragon comb. It was missing one jewel from its garnet mouth, but it grinned up at me nonetheless. I nudged aside _the Hobbit_ with my wand, noticing that Malfoy had used a crisp fifty pound note as a bookmark, and found the whisky that we had enjoyed during the Christmas party. Against the side lay a menu for our favourite Thai restaurant, and next to that, a little green plastic dragon. The plastic dragon that I had chosen, as a whimsical afterthought, and jokingly placed atop a cheap chocolate cupcake on his last birthday.

I snapped the drawer shut, feeling hot all over, and becoming conscious of an intense indignation bubbling up from the soles of my feet. The story of our working relationship, its little, significant awarenesses of each other, the moments that seared themselves into us, the things that went past being just ‘work friends,’ lay summed up in that small collection in a desk drawer.

I hadn’t been such a fool after all, but that made Florence that much worse.

 _‘It is easier to forgive an enemy than a friend,’_ William Blake had written.

If I had heard the same conversation between Zabini and any other Slytherin, wouldn’t I have tossed it aside with hardly a second thought? Instead I lay awake every night, reliving the humiliating words, and wondering how I had so misjudged the rightness I had felt with Malfoy a thousand times over the past year.

“What the hell. What are you doing in here?”

I jerked up to see Zabini himself leaning proprietarily across the cubicle doorway.

“I work here, Zabini,” I said coldly.

“Where’s Malfoy?”

“Do I look like his minder?” I snapped, hating that Zabini’s presence made all of my defensive instincts leap into high alert. I move back around the desk and elbowed my way past him.

“You look like a swotty pain in the arse,” he said menacingly, following as I turned towards my office, “and everything will be a lot easier when Malfoy’s free of you and this joke of a department.”

My cheeks flushed angrily, but I kept walking. Oh, how I longed to draw my wand and blast Zabini into next week.

“What’s going on out here?” Malfoy stepped out of my open office, a pair of thick, black bound files under his arm. He took one look at me, and then at Zabini, and his face passed through six different emotions at once.

How had I ever thought him impossible to read? I watched his expression change from anger, guilt, fear, confusion, panic, and then back to a hot, dangerous anger again.

“If you don’t sign this last transfer,” Zabini drawled to him, stepping in front of me and holding out a folder labeled ‘Lisbon’ in bold green script, “the Portuguese property tax...”

“I told you,” Malfoy said, moving to angle himself slightly between me and Zabini, “I’m not doing it.”

“The market is going to change,” Zabini persisted, “and you’ll be left holding your arse, and a worthless, empty flat.”

“I said no,” Malfoy growled.

“Your father would be sick, seeing you running around with this...” Zabini sneered at me, “and passing up a smart business deal.”

Malfoy went rigid and I saw him feel for his wand up his sleeve. I laid my hand on his arm, checking the foolhardy move. He looked at me quickly, a burning question in his grey eyes.

“We are in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” I reminded him, raising my eyebrows, “and we have someone that really needs us tomorrow. No curses in the corridor, or there’ll be a lot of awful paperwork.”

He nodded, glancing down at my restraining touch. I dropped my hand, but stayed next to him.

“Blaise,” he said, looking up slowly, “would you kindly, fuck the hell off?”

He didn’t wait for Zabini’s reply, but turned and held the door of my office open for me.

I walked past as calmly as I could manage, full of questions, and wondering how one person could contain so many conflicting sensations at once.

Draco shut the door behind me and leaned heavily against it. He held out the two black files with a steady hand. I received them with less composure.

“I knew you were run off your feet,” he said, “so I went back to Florence to teach that librarian, Francesca, the basic translation charm, and I finished the reports. They know we won’t be working on the project for at least a couple of weeks.”

I set the reports on my desk and turned away. I untied my dripping raincoat, shrugged it off, and hung it on a peg under my small mirror. I looked at my reflection, cheeks still brilliantly red, and the damp curls on my forehead starting to frizz out, and embraced my fury at last.

“That’s it?” I turned back around and scooted up on my desk, legs swinging, “that’s all you’ve got to say to me?” Lord, it felt amazing to give up the guilt. I wanted to laugh, and shout and say: Whatever I’ve done in my past, what you did was wrong, and you hurt me, Draco Malfoy. I gave you the power to hurt me, but I’m taking it back.

I shook my hair out and tilted my chin, meeting his stare challengingly.

“No,” he flushed, “no. I have a million and one things to say to you, but I don’t know how to start.”

“If you can’t manage an apology,” I said dryly, “then what about an explanation? What you did that morning in Florence was—”

“Unforgivable?” he asked fearfully, his hands tightening to fists.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. 

“I am sorry,” he burst out, stepping towards me, “so, so sorry. I swore a long time ago I would never stand by again and watch you...”

“Tortured?”

“Shite.” He drew a pale hand over his face.

“Not that I want to grant you any latitude,” I said, “but I could have easily stopped you if I’d wanted.”

“Merlin, that’s a thousand times worse.”

“Are you going to explain why you were in such a vile state the entire weekend to begin with?”

“I want to explain, but I don’t want the explanation to seem like I’m trying to excuse what I did.”

“That’s...rather mature,” I granted, “but stop stalling.”

He accepted this with a slight smile, shifting away from distraught and towards remorseful.

“My aunt didn’t trust Snape and made me learn occlumency so that he wouldn’t find out the task that V-Voldemort had assigned me after my father failed to collect the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. Of course, Snape already knew everything, and it was all a huge, awful fiasco from start to...Dumbledore.”

“It was a horrible thing to make you do,” I said, “all of it.”

“ _I_ was horrible,” Draco spat, “and I was proud, and so confident, at first. Every memory connected with that year is tainted by terror for myself and for my mother.”

He shifted again, looking deliberately at the scar on my neck.

“My aunt’s teaching methods were brutal,” he went on, “which I’m sure you can imagine. But during her lessons I realised that the way I was, able to naturally catch other people’s thoughts and emotions without even trying, was very, very rare.”

“So she didn’t teach you legilimency?” I sat up, surprised. 

“I can feel your scholarly wheels turning from here, Granger,” he grinned, “and that’s the thing. I hid it from her, and I buried it deep down until after the war. I was afraid that if it was known, I’d be a target, or worse, another weapon. But sometimes when I would talk to you in Potions, or if I watched you reading, with that funny frown you do when you disagree with an author’s conclusions, it seemed like the best skill in the world, because I could catch what you were feeling like you were handing it to me for confirmation or discussion. So after Hogwarts I studied legilimency, and practiced it, but I couldn’t ever shake the association with my insane aunt.”

I could feel my blush returning. I could count on one hand the number of civilised conversations we had held during sixth year Potions, but I did remember them, and his constant haggard, drawn expression throughout.

“When Potter and I went to Serbia, it was like stepping into a sewer, wading through that trafficker’s disgusting mind, and all I could think about was getting away. When I saw you in the portkey office, I was so tired, and it felt like what had come so naturally before had been poisoned. That morning, when I...used it on you...it was an accident.”

He looked me in the eyes again.

“But I could have stopped myself. I could have controlled it. And now you know everything.”

 _Hardly everything_ , I thought.

“What does this mean now, then?” I asked.

He held out his hand, palm down, in a strange gesture, as though laying his hand on an invisible Bible.

“I swear,” he said solemnly, “I swear that I will never invade your mind, ever, without your permission. I swear on my mother’s life.”

“Well,” I said a bit breathlessly, sliding off of my desk, “well, alright. Come sit down. We have a lot of work to finish if we want to be ready to catch that portkey tomorrow.”


	24. By Fearing to Attempt

April 16th, 2004: London

 

I had never been in the Department of Magical Transportation at six AM. It felt like the Gryffindor common room on a Sunday morning after a successful Hogsmeade Saturday. Four other travellers slumped on the hard benches along the walls, yawning widely and staring off into space. The lone portkey official wore a rumpled set of once-black robes that flopped open to reveal baggy grey tracksuit bottoms topped by a red and white jersey.

“Arsenal,” I muttered to myself, and then actually cringed. That was the side effect of chairing a committee in the Muggle Relations Department and spending so much time with Dean Thomas: football infiltrating the brain.

“What?” Malfoy asked alertly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I yawned, slumping back on our hard bench like everyone else, “the official has on an Arsenal jersey. That’s muggle football.”

“Oh,” he said, sagging back again.

“Malfoy,” I suddenly queried, “back in September, why didn’t you come to my birthday dinner?”

“What do you mean?” he asked tensely.

I rolled my neck from side to side, trying to stretch the tired kinks away.

“Was it because my friends that were coming were muggle?” I looked at him curiously. What did it matter now, really?

He tugged on the cuff of his shirt, and I was transported back to that day, with him standing in my office doorway, fiddling with his sleeves, and smoothing down immaculate robes, telling me about his Gringotts meeting.

“Of course it wasn’t,” he answered shortly.

“Then wha—”

“You didn’t invite me.”

“But...oh.”

As simple as that, and a whole new facet of understanding gleamed in front of me.

  _“Reykjavik in five minutes, Special to Lisbon in ten,”_ the portkey official announced wearily, finishing off his cup of coffee with a sorrowful frown.

Pushing aside my internal analysis of Malfoy’s brief revelation, I stood and collected my rucksack. The nerves that had previously been dead from exhaustion sprang to life again and sent shivers of excitement down to my fingertips.

The lift behind us trundled open with a clang, and Malfoy and I both turned to see Harry, his hair a windblown tousle, and with a baby carrier strapped to his chest, hurrying towards us.

“Oh good,” he said, grinning broadly and looking more awake than I had seen in him in a month, “James and I caught the wrong train at Bakerloo and I thought we’d missed you.” He jiggled James in his carrier, adding, “but we won’t tell your Mum about the wrong train, will we James, or we’ll never live it down.”

“Harry,” I managed, a strong wave of affection for my friend choking my speech, “what on earth?”

“I didn’t wish you luck last night,” Harry said, giving me a tight, one-armed hug, “and James likes to get up quite, quite early, so we came to see you off.”

I wanted to cry, but I gave him a careful hug back instead, burying my face against his worn old Harpies hoodie. It felt like reassurance that we were doing the right thing—that we would actually be able to help, and this wasn’t some harebrained, half-baked scheme.

“So, Lisbon first?” Harry asked, pulling away with a little sheepish smile.

“Lisbon, Granada, Rabat, Addis Ababa, Kigali, ending in Kisangani,” I recited nervously.

“I’m beginning to think we should have flown in that muggle airplane,” Malfoy joked, glancing sideways at me.

“Did you get your American dollars?” Harry asked him, adjusting James in his carrier with practiced ease.

“Yes,” Malfoy nodded stiffly.

“You two will be fine,” Harry said encouragingly, “just remember happy thoughts for your Patronus. But Malfoy,” he added, “if you let anything happen to her, don’t bother coming back to England.”

“Harry!” I protested, blushing.

“I know, Potter,” Malfoy nodded seriously.

Harry offered his hand, and they shook solemnly.

Embarrassed, I kissed James’s soft little cheek, and pinched Harry’s arm repressively.

“Bye, Hermione,” he said, dropping a kiss on the top of my head, “you’ll be amazing.”

“See you soon,” I said, backing away towards the Lisbon queue, “and take good care of your dad, James. He likes to get into trouble when I’m not around.”

“Ha!” Harry barked, “you were always around at the first sign of trouble.”

“Lisbon?” the portkey official asked, holding out the paper coffee cup we had just seen him drain.

“They really do charm any old thing,” Malfoy commented, accepting the portkey. 

“Waste not,” said the wizard. “Fifteen seconds.”

I waved one more time to Harry and James, and then grabbed the cup just under Malfoy’s hand. I looked up at him.

“Ready?”

“Ready, Granger.”

 

 

April 17th, Kisangani, Democratic Republic of the Congo

 

“Watch out,” I warned Malfoy urgently, dropping the old empty can that had been our final portkey, and stumbling towards a scrubby bush next to the Kisangani airport where we had just landed. I was sick behind the bush, and then crouched against the sunbaked building, struggling to suppress my queasy dizziness. I looked around and, seeing no one besides the two of us, vanished my sick with a quiet spell.

“It’s the cumulative effect,” Malfoy said, holding out a bottle of water and gently helping me to straighten up again.

I nodded, gulping down the water gratefully. We had sat for over nine hours in the Rabat Ligation, drowsing with our books, together on another hard bench, but the last three portkeys had been practically one after the other. Whirling, nauseating, wretchedness.

There was no pity in his voice, just quiet acknowledgment of my discomfort, so I allowed a small smile.

“Next time, we definitely _are_ taking an airplane.”

He looked at me sharply; the same kind of look he’d given me that memorable night in Lisbon, when he had barged into my hotel room complaining about the accommodations, and in reality, coming to defend me against that leering landlord. A fierce, hopeful kind of look.

 _Stop it, stop it, stop it_ , I told myself, or him, or whatever entity in this universe it was that kept yanking threads out of the slender ribbon of my self-preservation.

“Do you see our contact?” I asked firmly, raising a hand to shade my eyes from the glare of the African sun, and peering around the empty Air Base.

“No,” Malfoy cleared his throat, “but we should probably start walking to the train depot, just in case it’s difficult to find.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. I yanked my sun hat down more securely on my frizzing plait, and shrugged my rucksack back up into position. “Prudence did say that they might not have anyone here to meet an incoming portkey. I think we should get moving too.” I glanced around again at the eerily empty airport and held out my wand, still hiding it between us. “South’s that way,” I pointed, “and the river should be about a half mile walk.”

We walked across the reddish brown runway, wending around cracks in the paving that boasted an impressive array of determined plants struggling up between. We walked past an old razor wire fence that lay in a tangled heap, either halfway put up, or halfway pulled down. Along the red paved road outside the Air Base we finally found startling signs of life. People rode by on clattering bicycles, craning recklessly around to stare at us in open-mouthed interest. Kids stopped their ball games, in front of precariously tilting tin roofed houses, to watch as we passed. Some of them hurried inside, dragging a parent or sibling to the door and pointing.

It wasn’t like China. No curious children scampered up to meet us, or booted a battered football to Malfoy, or sang out their eager excitement at the approaching strangers. The tall, old, crumbling, white colonial style buildings, with their grimy, neglected facades, loomed like sullen ghosts of the past over the makeshift shack homes.

It was a palpable atmosphere of apprehension, with me and Malfoy striking some strange chord of “out-of-placeness” in these citizens. I couldn’t have named the reason for the fear that clenched my stomach into knots, but I could feel Malfoy beside me, thrumming with alert magic like a curse waiting at the end of my wand.

“Something’s really off,” he said lowly, offering his arm to help me over a fallen telegraph pole.

“It’s a little bit like we’ve stepped onto the set of a film, and nobody’s told us our parts,” I agreed.

We kept walking, picking up the pace despite the increasingly oppressive, humid heat of the late morning. Tall palms sporadically lined the street, but they gave little shade, and the heat reflected from the pavement was the worst, shade or no.

We turned a corner that was crowded with men and bicycles, to meet a wave of refreshing air, and the broad, dark, Congo River. To our left, about two hundred yards away, the river approached in a wide rush, curving smoothly around a little green island.

“Let’s see if they can take us across here,” Malfoy suggested, pointing down a lengthy set of steps at some men sitting in long, beached, canoe-like boats.

“Okay,” I said, wishing that we could apparate across instead. The current looked quite strong at this spot, but these men obviously wouldknow their river.

We descended the steps and Malfoy approached the men, greeting them politely in French through his translation charm.

They stared at us in surprise, not responding until Malfoy gestured to the boats and asked:

“Would it be possible to be taken across?”

One man, tall and broad shouldered, stood and came towards us.

“You want to go across?” he asked, his tone puzzled.

“We need to reach the railway depot,” Malfoy explained.

“I can take you across,” the man said, “but the railway depot may not be running. The Ugandan Soldiers just went through on that side towards the ferry, and they often take with them all of the fuel and then the ships cannot move their goods to the railway.”

“Oh,” Malfoy looked at me questioningly.

“Well,” I theorised, “we won’t be able to do anything from this side of the river, will we? We may as well cross and see what we can do next.”

The man with the boat grinned and used his shirt to wipe the perspiration from his face.

“You have a fiery heart,” he said, “is this man your husband?”

“Of course,” Malfoy snapped testily.

I rolled my eyes, but ignored them both.

The two of them pushed the man’s boat into the brown water, and I climbed inside, settling at the bow as indicated by our ferryman’s gestures.

“You should take off your pack,” Malfoy suggested, “in case we do tip.”

“But then all of our supplies would be lost,” I argued.

“Better than you drowning as it dragged you down,” he argued back.

Realising the sense of this argument, I swapped my rucksack around to my front as a sort of stubborn compromise. The man and Malfoy climbed in behind me, shoving off from the shore as they did, and each taking up a paddle with strong strokes.

The cool breeze whipped up the river, helping to keep us from drifting too far downstream in the current, and filling my lungs with exhilarating oxygen. In no time at all we reached the southern bank, and I clambered out into the shallow mud, tugging the boat as best I could onto the beach.

“Thank you,” I said to the man.

“I will take you across any time, Mademoiselle.” He grinned again, pulling the boat ashore with one easy motion.

“Thank you,” Malfoy said curtly, handing him a pair of smooth U.S. twenty dollar bills.

The man’s grin widened as he accepted the payment, and he pushed his boat back into the water, whistling cheerfully as he leapt into it.

“At least we made one person’s day,” I quipped, swinging my rucksack back around properly and watching the man paddle off.

“Come on,” Malfoy grumbled amiably, “and try to be a little less attractive to random strangers, would you?”

I fought back a smile, and tossed my head instead.

“How can I help it?” I joked, “with my fiery heart and all.”

“Come on,” he said again, laughing as my hat fell off from my careless head tossing.

 

We walked until we stumbled across a train track, and then turned southeast until we found the depot.

‘Depot’ would be putting quite a grand title to the curve in the track that met a small board platform that lay between a freight train and a tiny office building. A rusty, miniature crane was unloading cargo from a trailer onto one of the freight cars. Filled with relief at this sight, we hurried onto the platform to the tiny office’s window.

“Hello,” a stout man slid open the tiny window and addressed us, “hello, yes please?”

“May we take this train to Ubundu?” Malfoy asked slowly.

“This is not passenger train,” the man said uncertainly, glancing back and forth between us.

“Right,” I nodded, “but we heard that we might be allowed to ride on the engine, for an appropriate fare.”

“Appropriate?” The man straightened, suddenly shrewd.

“This?” Malfoy offered a twenty dollar bill.

“For me,” the man agreed, snatching the bill eagerly, “but one also for the engineer.”

“Of course,” Malfoy nodded, his expression perfectly compliant.

“The train leave in one hour.”

“Perfect.” Malfoy smiled.

 

With nothing else to do, we sat on the dusty edge of the platform under an enormous, heavenly scented Starcluster bush, and waited.


	25. A Man Can Die But Once

 

“It’s like a wall of green, isn’t it?” Malfoy said, his tone full of awed respect.

“It is rather forbidding,” I agreed, relieved that one of us had acknowledged aloud the overwhelming vastness of the jungle into which our ancient, lumbering freight engine now carried us. I had somehow imagined sitting and discussing the next step we would take if Prudence didn’t meet us upon arriving in Ubundu, but neither of us could seem to tear ourselves away from the window. 

Malfoy made an occasional noise of distress when I leaned out a little extra far, intoxicated by the sheer immensity of the country around us, and I smiled to myself at his frustrated concern. We had been on the train for nearly three hours, and I had yet to tire of tormenting him.

“There’s another one.” I pointed as a red cut of road flashed by. Since quickly leaving Kisangani behind, the train had only passed two other roads, both of them dirt tracks that blipped by, mere slashes in the sheet of green.

“We should be getting close,” Malfoy checked his watch, “if our calculations of speed and the map are both correct.”

“Yes,” the train engineer said, nearly startling me out of the window with his sudden speech, “we will slow down soon, when we reach Ubundu, but you must be ready to go off when I say. You cannot stay all the way to the port, or I may have trouble for letting you on.”

“Oh,” I snatched up my rucksack anxiously, “how long? And how slow will we be going?”

“Ten minutes,” he said tranquilly, “and the train will be very slow. You could walk faster.”

“Okay,” I nodded, “good.”

Malfoy shook his head at me with a smirk.

“I’ll hold your hand if you want, Granger,” he teased, shouldering his own bag.

“Really?” I questioned pertly, looking him up and down.

His cheeks turned a light pink, and he looked away, still smiling.

 

Stepping off of the moving train and onto the small station’s platform was easier than stepping off an escalator. We immediately spotted Prudence rushing towards us from a parked Land Rover.

“You came,” she cried as we hurried to meet her, “you came, you came.”

“Of course we came,” I embraced her reassuringly, “we promised.”

“Oh,” she gripped my arm desperately, “but, then, you haven’t heard?”

“What is it?” Malfoy asked quickly.

“We only heard it yesterday on the radio at the hospital. The UPC, that’s a rebel group, engaged the government’s soldiers near Kisangani, and they were not allowing any travel around that area.”

“That explains why nobody met our portkey,” Malfoy told her.

“But it is more than that,” Prudence explained. “The soldiers scattered that arm of the rebels, and we thought that the railway would be blocked as they started this way. But you came,” she said again.

“Yes,” I smiled as bravely as I could. “If it is so dangerous, maybe we shouldn’t stand around here.”

“Yes,” Prudence concurred, “and it will rain very soon. I will show you the hospital, and then we will go to the school.”

 

The WHO hospital surprised me with its seeming mishmash of ultra modern technology housed in a gleaming white building, alongside two wings of canvas tents that housed dozens of patients on simple, narrow cots.

Prudence collected some medicine and showed us the facility, but we were quickly on our way again, bumping over the rutted dirt track and leaving behind the simmering town of Ubundu.

“They are worried,” she told us as she navigated the primitive road, both hands gripping the steering wheel for dear life, “because this feels like the start of a new conflict. More war. The country cannot survive that.”

“The atmosphere in Kisangani was intense,” I said, “and the man that took us across the river said that the Ugandan soldiers had come through.”

“The soldiers are just as bad as the rebels,” Prudence said, frowning. “They take, take, take.”

“What should we expect when we reach the school?” Malfoy asked, clutching at the back of the seat in front of him as we hit a nasty pothole.

“Marie-Laure, who is the other permanent teacher, is the only one who knows the real reason you are coming. She will show you around the school and will take you to the hut. Merde!” She spat this last as a spate of fat raindrops hit the windscreen. She shifted gears aggressively, and we bumped along at a faster, bone rattling pace, rain streaking down our windows.

 

Marie-Laure, a pretty, petite young woman, met us in front of the school house. We darted across the muddy yard and into the whitewashed room.

“I must go now, you know,” Prudence said breathlessly, “or I will never make it back in this rain.” She set her box of medicine on one of the desks, shook Malfoy’s hand, and then mine, and ran back across the yard, dodging puddles that had already spread on the red clay.

Marie-Laure turned to us, hands clasped anxiously in front of her.

“I have made up a room for you,” she said in lilting French, “so that you can put all of your things somewhere safe, and then I will show you the bad place.”

“Doesn't Prudence live here as well?” I asked, bringing out a black rain poncho from my bag. “I thought she stayed at the school most of the time.”

“She does stay here,” Marie-Laure confirmed, “but they lost one of the doctors at the hospital, and so she must stay there more nights now, until they replace him.”

Lost him. That could mean any number of things. It was difficult to comprehend the challenge of living in this wild tangle of jungle. Without a Land Rover of their own, it was a six mile walk from the school to find the nearest neighbour, or medical assistance, or help of any kind.

“Where does this road end?” I asked, pointing to the south through the tunnel of trees.

“It will eventually connect to a paved road,” Marie-Laure said, “but it must cross one small river, and that place is very often washed away.”

She took us out into the downpour, and we walked about twenty yards to a small stone building. I felt a childish sort of delight at the way my black slicker defied the rain, like my own little tent, and this small triumph buoyed my spirits.

Malfoy looked like a tall, cowled monk, with his hood up, and his head down against the shower. The building had two separate living quarters, but Marie-Laure led us both into the side closest to the jungle.

“This is all the room we have,” she apologised, gesturing to the two narrow cots on either side of the small space. A washstand stood between them with a small mirror hanging above it.

“It’s like a damp, white version of Xinjiang,” I said lightly, reaching out to touch the folds of mosquito netting over one cot, “and I’m sure we will be quite comfortable.”

“Better than my old dormitory,” Malfoy joked, giving Marie-Laure a reassuring grin.

She looked suddenly flustered, and turned away to hide her embarrassed smile.

“Follow me to the hut,” she instructed, hurrying back outside.

I raised my eyebrows at Malfoy.

“Try to tone down the attractiveness your own self, won’t you?” I set my rucksack on the closest cot.

“I’ll give it a try,” he smirked at full wattage, “but no guarantees, Granger.”

We followed Marie-Laure back across the compound to a small, round, thatch roofed hut. It had an ill-fitting door, with a considerable gap along the top and bottom, and no windows. It felt like entering a sepulchre. One old cot sat in the centre, like a final resting place prepared in some forgotten time. Marie-Laure stood fretfully in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her again.

“That’s where Jémima slept. Do you really think you will be able to help us,” she asked softly.

I entered the cool hut and waited to sense a hint of magic, or darkness, or an ominous presence, but it just felt like a dimly lit circle, and smelled like rich earth and warm rain.

Malfoy stepped close beside me.

“Yes,” I said, “we will be able to help you.”

 

Back in our own room we sat on our cots and looked at each other.

“I have been so panicked about just getting here,” I finally said, “that I haven’t even had time to stress about dealing with the Lethifold itself.”

Malfoy gave a small smile.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I’ve been practicing a Patronus all week, but I’ve still never been able to achieve a full, corporeal Patronus.”

“Oh,” I said numbly, “that’s slightly worrying. How strong is your Patronus?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “We—I mean, I didn’t have anything to practice on, so it’s anyone’s guess.”

“Malfoy,” I groaned, flopping back on my cot and getting immediately tangled in a cloud of mosquito net, “uuuggh.”

“You can do a corporeal Patronus,” he said urgently, “so I’ll be the one to lay on the cot as Lethifold bait.”

“Oh, Merlin,” I sat up, detangling myself with difficulty, “what a couple of idiots we are. Why didn’t we figure this part out back in England?”

“You weren't talking to me?”

“I’m starting to recall why,” I growled. “So, one confirmed Patronus between us, and one sleeping victim as bait. I have an idea to get rid of the Lethifold permanently, but I’m not sure how we will make it work.”

“I’m listening.”

“Remember back at Hogwarts when you were playing informant to Rita Skeeter as a beetle? I mean, she was a beetle, obviously.”

“Uh, yes,” he said gruffly.

“Well, I caught her and trapped her in a jar that I had charmed unbreakable.”

“That sounds fairly illegal,” he said, looking impressed. “I wondered what had happened to her.”

“Well,” I blushed, “if we can figure out how to capture the Lethifold, we can trap it in this,” I pulled a large pickle jar from my bag, “and then bury it in the jungle somewhere.”

“Could we freeze it after we hit it with a Patronus and then summon it into the jar?”

“I have abso-bloody-lutely no idea.”

“Sounds like our kind of plan.”

 

A student, who introduced herself as Esther, came to fetch us for dinner. It was still raining.

The large dining room contained around thirty people, ranging in age from babies in their mothers’ arms, to a white haired little grandmother. Most of the diners were young girls though, and they all stood, smiling, to stare at us when we entered.

Marie-Laure introduced us to the group of families, and we were quickly swamped by a crowd of chattering children. It felt like stepping into a warm beam of sunshine on a chilly day. They grabbed our hands eagerly, and took turns rapidly introducing themselves in a torrent of names and ages. We were pulled over to a long table, and fought over as seat-mates.

The meal seemed to consist of mainly rice with peas and sweet potatoes and an anomalous pile of salted peanuts.

“I’m Ruth, Ruthie,” said the little girl to my right, bouncing on her seat despite the attempts of her mother to subdue such rambunctious mealtime behaviour, “I’m six years old!”

“My friend, Teddy, just turned six,” I told her. “He is learning to read.”

“I can read!” Ruthie said enthusiastically, “Ben, my brother Ben is teaching me. Can I read to you?” She scrambled off of her bench as though to retrieve something with which to demonstrate her abilities.

“Sit!” her mother commanded, “they have travelled a very long way today, and will be very tired.” She smiled to soften the censure.

“Reading is one of my favourite things in the whole world,” I told Ruthie, “and I would love to read with you tomorrow.”

“That’s Ben,” she pointed across the table, satisfied with our compromise, “and he can read long books without even any pictures!”

“That’s because I’m ten,” Ben said, slightly witheringly, hiding an embarrassed smile. “and anyone who’s ten can read.”

“I’m Elodie,” their mother said, shaking her head fondly over the children. “I’m sorry they are so loud today. They have all been talking about the visitors for a week.”

“So, no pressure!” I laughed. I glanced at Malfoy. A small boy was showing him a spot where ‘Doctor Prudence’ had applied a sticking plaster over an exciting injury.

“I’m going to be a doctor, when I grow up,” he said, “because boys can be doctors, too!”

“What are you?” Ruthie asked Malfoy, standing on her bench as she did so to get a closer look at his shining hair.

“What do you mean?” Malfoy asked, looking slightly alarmed at such intense scrutiny.

“Are you a doctor?”

“Oh,” he relaxed with a smile, “I’m...I guess I haven’t quite worked out what I am yet, but I’m definitely not a doctor.”

“You could be a teacher,” she suggested. “That’s good too.”

 

After dinner it was nearly dark. Esther, Elodie, Ben, and Ruthie all gave us a tour around the compound, explaining when each house had been constructed, and when a fire had destroyed the kitchen and some people came from America to help rebuild it, and showing where they would put the wall around the school so that they could get a cow and more hens, and keep out bad men, when they saved enough money up.

When the happy group left us at our room, cheerfully calling out their ‘goodnights,’ I wanted desperately to take Malfoy’s hand and run after them. But I collected the charmed jar from my cot, and doused us both with mosquito repellent, and we slipped around the house to the fateful hut.

“I’ll disillusion myself,” I said, “and sit over here. Make sure your wand is ready, just in case.”

“Are you planning on nodding off?” Malfoy asked. I heard him settle down onto the creaking cot.

“I took two doses of pepper-up,” I said wryly, “so I likely won’t sleep for days.”

“Okay.” He sounded really frightened, and my heart leapt in terrified sympathy.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised.

We sat in the dark, unable to mark the time for fear of giving ourselves away if the Lethifold did come on this first moonless night, and prevented from even checking to confirm that we were both still awake. I stared at the gap under the door, only the very faintest shade lighter than the black of the door, and imagined, for hours upon endless hours, that I could see a slight movement of shadow creeping through the opening, seeking out prey.

The impulse to light my wand and verify that Malfoy, and not an overly full Lethifold, lay on the cot, intensified every minute. Any game I tried to play to distract myself failed, and my bottom eventually grew so numb from immobility that I was forced to shift a little, and an inadvertent moan escaped.

“Oh, hell,” Malfoy whispered, “thank Merlin you are still there.”

“Shh,” I hissed, but felt the exact same relief at the sound of his voice.

“I don’t know how I can bear another night like that,” I said shakily as we exited the hut in the misty grey of early dawn. “What if the Lethifold never comes?”

“I don’t know,” Malfoy said. His face was pale and drawn.

“Let’s get some sleep.”

We stumbled into our room and collapsed onto the cots without undressing.

 

We slept through breakfast, but the sound of singing and a Sunday morning church service woke me after a few hours. I turned over to face Malfoy, pulling my thin blanket around me tightly, and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest until I drifted off to sleep again.

When I woke properly, our room felt like a sauna, and Malfoy’s cot was empty. I threw off my blanket and dug a fresh change of clothes from my bag. As I exited the room to find the shower, it was to see Malfoy being chased across the grounds by about twenty giggling kids, all jumping and leaping, trying to pop the massive bubbles he was streaming out of his wand.

I shook my head and ducked around our house and into the communal washroom. International Statute of Secrecy be damned. I don’t think I had ever seen him look so openly happy in all the years I had known him. I tried to block his uninhibited grin out of my fuzzy mind as I shivered under the frigid stream from a hosepipe fastened to a cinderblock wall, but in my mind he was firmly lodged.

“I looked in on you when you didn’t come to breakfast,” Marie-Laure said lowly when Malfoy and I joined everyone for Sunday dinner. “Did anything happen?” Her tense expression made me long to give a different answer, but I replied simply.

“Nothing...yet.”

“Sit with me!” Ruthie ran up and grabbed my hand. She pulled me down on her bench, clinging to my arm affectionately. “On Sunday we have Lituma for dinner, and afterwards Mama said that we can read together, but we have to let everyone else come too, if they want.”

I looked down at the plate before me to see rice, peas, some small portion of meat, and three round balls that looked like extra large donut holes.

“What book do you have?” Ben asked me eagerly from across the table. He had managed to sit next to Malfoy, and obviously cherished the coveted place.

“I brought _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ ,” I said slowly, “but it is in English. I can read it to you in French, if you like.”

“Chocolate?” Ruthie perked right up, “a book about chocolate?”

“Yes,” I smiled. Hopefully choosing one of my favourite books would help divert my imagination towards pleasant things, instead of the dread of facing a second try at our quarry.

 

 

After another horrid, straining night in the hut, Malfoy and I both felt grim.

“You look like you’ve been dug up,” I sympathised as we sat on our cots.

“That’s extremely encouraging,” he said, rubbing his eyes and failing to stifle a massive yawn.

“Tonight’s the darkest night of the lunar cycle,” I said, “and by next Monday the moon will be at a quarter. How long do we stay without any sign of this thing?”

“What if it isn’t a Lethifold after all?” Malfoy countered. “We should stay at least until Saturday, and then maybe do some experiments to check if we can find a trace of something else that could act the same way.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed. Pushing aside the mosquito netting, I crawled up on my cot and hugged my flat, hard pillow to my chest. Through bleary eyes, I watch Malfoy perform the same manoeuvre and roll to face me.

“Malfoy?”

“Granger?”

“What are you going to do after this?”

“After...”

“After your year in my department is ended.”

He buried his face in the thin mattress.

“You could go anywhere now,” I said wearily.

“Go to sleep, Granger.”

 

 

I had read that people could only cope with a very few minutes in total darkness. If one switched off the torch in a lightless cave, the unbearable need to see something would eventually cause overwhelming panic.

As I sat at the back of the dark hut, my body aching and my mind racing at top speed, I had a sudden, powerful sympathy for people who lost their sight. I had the hope that I would see the sun in just a couple of hours, but without that hope, panic loomed.

It had been raining steadily all night. The torturous beat of it against the ground outside was like a hypnotising chant, lulling me closer and closer to treacherous sleep. Finally, finally, a slight lightening of the gap above the door signalled the approach of dawn. With it, the tattoo of rain died away, leaving curling wisps of vapour that swirled up under the door.

I jerked awake, knowing I had only been asleep for half a moment, but every magical instinct I possessed suddenly screamed in warning. Through the bottom gap, with a soft sound like a snake sliding across sand, moved a patch of liquid darkness. I held my breath, terrified and uncertain. How long should I wait before summoning my Patronus? Was Malfoy still awake? Could he even see the Lethifold gliding across the dirt floor towards him? My fingers clenched my wand in a death grip, and I made my move.

“Expecto Patronum!” I screamed, struggling to my feet. My beautiful, wonderful, silver otter sprang from my wand and pinned the Lethifold, like a flapping, writhing sheet, against the door.

“Accio!” Malfoy shouted, rolling from his cot onto the floor and holding out the open pickle jar. The Lethifold continued to writhe, stretching away as though trying to find a crevice through which to escape.

“Accio, Accio!” Malfoy shouted again, and the Lethifold twisted in a wild tangle through the air and into the jar. He slammed the lid down and swiftly screwed it shut.

My silvery otter tumbled towards me, pausing to wind around Malfoy’s legs like a friendly house cat, and filling the hut with her warm, blue glow.

“Thank you,” I whispered as she dissolved against my outstretched hand.

“Lumos.” Malfoy’s wand arm shook as he spoke the spell, but the hut filled with a comforting blast of light. In the jar, the Lethifold continued to swirl, an angry black shadow, but the unbreakable charm held.

“We did it,” I said, a tremble in my voice.

“Granger—”

The silence outside was rent by a bloodcurdling shriek. The scream didn’t fade, but intensified, and soon other shouts of panic joined it.

“No!” Malfoy yelled, his face falling in anguish. He dropped the jar on the cot and blasted the door open, charging out.

I tried to follow, but my bloodless legs wouldn’t cooperate. He sprinted across the muddy yard, slipping and sliding in the grey half light of morning, heading towards the house that belonged to Elodie and Ben and Ruthie.

“No,” he shouted again, skidding to a halt outside the doorway where Marie-Laure and Esther crouched over the immobile figure of Ben, sprawled on the soaked ground. Blood poured from a wound on his head.

“What—?” I gasped as I reached them, fresh horror flooding me at the sight. The wailing came from inside the house.

“Ruthie,” Marie-Laure sobbed, “they hit Elodie with a rifle and tried to take Ben and Ruthie. He fought back, and they ran when they heard your shout, but they’ve taken Ruthie!”

“Who?” I begged desperately. “Where?”

“Soldiers,” Marie-Laure spat as she and Esther poured water over Ben as he began to stir, trying to clear the blood and mud from his face, “more likely deserters.”

“Where, where, where?” I pleaded, clutching Malfoy’s arm.

“Up the road, North,” Esther managed between tears.

Without another glance, Malfoy and I bolted off together towards the road


	26. Pluck Up Drowned Honor

   “Stop, stop,” I gasped, slowing to a walk and clutching my side. The straight stretch of the road disappeared into a thickening mist before us. After running for only a minute, I quickly realised that I could never maintain the same pace as Malfoy. “You keep going this way—we can see their boot prints—and I will apparate ahead a couple of miles and start back towards you. I can send my Patronus if I find them first.”

“What if I find them?” he countered hastily. “I think separating is dangerous.”

“Anything we do now is dangerous,” I argued, “and we can’t waste time talking. Stun them! You know what they intend to do to her.”

He swore fiercely.

“Okay, go,” he agreed, picking up a run again.

I apparated immediately, focusing hard. I relished the surge of magic that engulfed me.

The road where I landed was clogged by the same fog. It swirled down the dark tunnel of jungle on a bitter breeze, but I could see shafts of dawn’s light cutting across the canopy overhead, bringing the morning at last. I started forward at a jog, and had only covered about fifty yards when I heard voices, raised and heated, ahead of me in the mist. The words were a Bantu language, but not the Swahili that my translation charm could recognise. I crept towards the sound, wracked with indecision. If I disillusioned myself I would be safer, but then Ruthie wouldn’t know that I was there to help. If this was even the group that had abducted her. Should I send my Patronus past them to tell Malfoy? Should I wait until I confirmed that they had Ruthie?

The decisions left my hands as a gust of wind cleared the road, and I saw a knot of five men, arguing loudly, in front of a mired Land Rover. They wore ragged, filthy camouflage uniforms, and had heavy guns strapped to their backs.

My heart rose in my throat for a moment when I didn’t spot Ruthie right away, but then her huddled form shifted in between the booted feet. I could see her little pink shirt, splattered with blood.

Would Protego work against bullets? I was about to find out, as one man, his face and uniform smeared with mud, hauled Ruthie to her feet and started to turn in my direction. She resisted, delaying him from seeing me, and causing him to shake her by the shoulder like a rag doll.

He didn’t see me yet, but Ruthie suddenly did. With a frantic yell, she started fighting again, kicking her captor’s shin with her bare foot, and struggling to get free. He yanked her arm up, and backhanded her cheek with a brutal crack. She went limp in his grasp, and I saw red.

“Stupefy,” I shouted furiously. Two of the men were blasted back, and the one who had held Ruthie fell, pinning her inert body in the muddy track. But the other three spun and ran into the trees, leaving their comrades. I threw up a shield and dropped to the ground as the men opened fire. The Land Rover hid me from their view, and I managed to crawl to Ruthie and find a pulse on her tiny wrist. I wanted to sob in relief, but I took a steadying breath and started to work on freeing her from the dead weight holding her down.

I finally dragged her loose, rolling the man into the mud, and pulled her up against me. I gasped for air as bullets continued to fly over my head. Thankfully, they seemed to want to avoid damaging the Land Rover, so their shots went wide. But in a moment they would realise that I was only one person, and they would move to surround me, and it would all be over.

I was terrified to apparate. Apparating muggles was always dangerously risky, and if she was already injured, I could end up killing her myself.

“Draco, Draco,” I breathed, “where are you?” He had to be at least a mile behind still, but he would have heard the gunshots.

With a crack, he appeared next to the Land Rover. I jerked him down next to me as bullets zinged by again.

“I’m here,” he crawled closer, “I heard you calling me.”

“She’s unconscious,” I said desperately, “but her pulse is strong.” I wanted to take him into my arms too, and apparate away. “Cover us while I try to bring her around.”

He shifted into a crouch, pressing his back against mine.

“Please, Ruthie,” I pointed my wand at her chest, “keep fighting, Ruth. Rennervate.”

She stirred in my arms and opened her eyes in rapid blinks. When she looked up into my face she burst into tears, sobbing loudly and clinging to me.

“Shh, Love,” I pressed her against my shoulder, “shh, shh. You need to be so, so quiet. We have to get away from here. If anything happens, run as hard as you can back down the road.”

She nodded against me, obediently gulping back her panicked sounds.

“The road is washed out about a mile from the school, which is where they got in this.” Crawling around to face me, Draco put his hand on the Land Rover. “If we got this thing out of the mud, could you operate it? We could go on to Ubundu to the hospital.”

I scooted to the side and cracked open the door. Arching my back, I stretched to look inside. It was right hand drive and the keys were in the ignition, but I hadn’t driven a manual transmission in over five years.

“Yes,” I said, “but we will need at least a full minute to get it unstuck and started.”

“You get Ruthie in and then I’ll keep covering you while you lift it out.” He looked down at the two unconscious men. “Stunning is too good for them,” he said ferociously.

“Ruthie,” I smoothed a hand across her swelling cheek, “climb up, Sweetheart, and into the back. Stay down on the seat. We are going to get out of here.”

She whimpered and clung to me harder, but then released me shakily and crawled across my legs and into the Land Rover.

“How many are in the trees?” Draco asked, pressing against my side, breathing hard.

“Three,” I said, “all armed. I surprised them, or they would have mown me down in the road.”

“I’ll cast a shield and stunning spells at them, and hopefully that will give enough time for us to get away.”

“Okay.” I struggled into a crouch, sliding in the muddy clay, and concentrated on casting the most powerful Leviosa of my life.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” I shouted, not trusting the strength of a nonverbal spell. The Land Rover lifted from the muck with a squelch, but only hovered the barest inch off the ground. I would have to stand to move it forward.

“Protego! Stupefy!” Draco yelled, leaping up. Something crashed in the trees, and two voices began shouting in panic. A volley of bullets showered us, thudding into the side of the Land Rover. Draco’s shield held for the moment, and I stood up beside him, trying to transfer the vehicle onto solid ground. It inched at an agonisingly slow pace, and Draco’s shield shredded apart under the next wave of gunfire.

I could hear him swearing and casting curses, renewing his shield, but at least two of the men were still able to attack, and they seemed determined to stop us from escaping. Finally the Land Rover settled onto hard ground, and I released the levitation charm to cast my own shield spell.

“Draco!” I flung open the driver’s side door so that he could crawl across, “get in!”

He turned to comply, but the next second his face twisted and he shoved me hard to the ground.

“Stupefy!” he shouted, but the man who’d smacked Ruthie had regained consciousness and pulled a pistol. He fired two rounds before Draco’s spell hit him.

I shot another shield spell around us and rolled up onto my knees, expecting to see Draco climbing into the Land Rover.

He had slid to the ground, his wand hand pressed to his left shoulder, and blood trickling between his fingers. He looked at me in surprise.

“Are you okay?” he asked me dazedly.

“Merlin, Draco,” I cried, pulling his hand away briefly. “Shite.” Two small holes spurted blood, rapidly soaking his grey shirt with a dark, spreading stain.

“Get in the truck,” I told him firmly. “Get in. Now.”

He nodded and struggled to his knees. I wrapped my arm around his waist, levering against the lip of the door, and lifting with all my strength. He collapsed across both seats, smearing blood on the backs.

“Your damned long legs,” I choked, shoving him as hard as I could. I shot another round of stunning spells into the jungle, and climbed inside after him.

“Clutch, brake, key. Hell, hell, hell.” But the Land Rover started right up. I shifted into first gear and immediately killed it. Panic flooded me.

“I can’t,” I sobbed.

“You can,” Draco insisted.

I started the truck again, and this time we lurched forward, tires spinning and throwing mud in an arching spray behind us. We finally gained enough traction and I shifted again, sending us bumping over the rutted track.

Ruthie was crying loudly in the back seat now, but I couldn’t do anything to comfort her; it took all of my concentration to keep the Land Rover from skidding off of the sloppy road.

“Should I stop and apparate back to the school?” I asked Draco. “I have blood replenishers, but I don’t have a clue what to do about bullets.”

“Just keep driving,” he instructed, slumping against the passenger side door, his eyes closed.

Both the speedometer and petrol gauge didn’t work, but it felt like we were barely moving, and each time we crashed through a river of runoff that crossed the road, Draco moaned in agony.

We were nearly to Ubundu, and the jungle was thinning, when the Land Rover stalled in a waterlogged ditch it couldn’t handle. I clambered out and levitated it forward, my wand shaking violently. When I climbed back in I found Draco unconscious, his wand lying in his limp hand on his lap.

“No, no, no.” I jammed the truck into gear again and put my foot down. We flew through the outskirts of the town and skidded to a stop outside the WHO hospital, only to be met by a frantic Prudence.

“Thank God!” she exclaimed, sprinting up to pull Ruthie into her arms. “They radioed from the school, but we only just received it.”

“Malfoy’s been shot,” I shouted over her. I scrambled out and around the front of the Land Rover, jerking his door open. He slumped out with a groan. Alive! “Help! Please, help me!” I tucked his wand into my pocket and encircled his torso as gently as I could. A pair of medics rushed over with a stretcher and transferred him quickly out of the truck. I followed them inside, my whole body trembling with fear and exhaustion.

“I have to apparate back to the school to tell them, and get my things,” I told Prudence, staggering slightly, “but I will come straight back here. Take good care of him.”

“Of course,” she shifted Ruthie, “but be careful.”

I walked back outside, feeling like the worst sort of traitor leaving Draco behind. But he wouldn’t even know, and I had to ease Elodie’s mind about her child. Completely spent, I apparated straight from the public street, not giving a damn whether or not anyone saw me.

I landed in the room Malfoy and I had shared. Numbly, I collected our rucksacks, and stumbled out into the brilliant African sun.

“Hermione!” Marie-Laure immediately spotted me from the schoolroom window. She hurried out to meet me, apprehension and fear warring on her face.

“I came back by magic,” I explained, “but we got Ruthie and she is at the hospital with Prudence. I think she will be okay, but you can’t walk on that road to Ubundu. We left the men who abducted her unconscious about two miles from here, and we took their truck.”

“Oh,” she sagged in relief, “and Ben will be okay. He is resting.”

“Go tell them about Ruthie. I have to go back to the hospital. Malfoy was shot.”

She gasped in horror, but I was already spinning away with a clumsy crack of apparation.

At the hospital, I listened for the sound of a commotion and walked towards it.

“Malfoy,” I asked a passing nurse, “will he be alright?”

She looked at me, horrified, and I realised that I was covered almost head to toe in blood and muck.

“Hermione!” Prudence came through a set of swinging doors, “he’s going to be fine. We took him into surgery to remove the one bullet, and he has lost a lot of blood, but he will be fine.”

“Ruthie?”

“Fine, physically,” Prudence scowled. “Just a lot of bruises and a scrape. It could have been so much worse.” She took my arm gently. “Come clean up in the washroom.”

“When can I see Malfoy?”

“He should be out of surgery in about an hour.”

 

I washed and changed my clothes with leadened limbs. It seemed as though everything had just happened to someone else, and Draco and I hadn't yet left that hut after capturing the Lethifold. The warm shower felt incredible, and I nearly drifted off under its soothing spray. Prudence showed me to the room where Draco lay, swathed in bandages, on a simple cot.

“We gave him a transfusion,” she told me, “and the blood replenisher you brought. He’s heavily medicated now, but he really will be okay.” She hugged me bracingly, and then led me to another cot against the wall. “Get some rest,” she smiled. “Doctor’s orders.”

I dragged the cot over so that I was right next to Draco. A purple bruise bloomed on his cheekbone. He would match Teddy’s broomstick injury now. As I settled down, I watched the reassuring rise and fall of his chest, and my own breathing finally relaxed. Sleep overcame me as my head hit the pillow


	27. Is Not That Strange?

April 21st, 2004:

Democratic Republic of the Congo

 

“Hermione! Hermione, wake up”

I snapped my eyes open to meet Draco’s worried stare.

“You were having a nightmare,” he said anxiously. He was leaning halfway back, slightly propped on a pile of pillows, the bandage on his shoulder freshly changed.

“I was dreaming I was telling Narcissa Malfoy that her son had died of a bullet wound in an African jungle defending a muggle child and a mudblood witch,” I said truthfully.

“Two bullets.” He smirked, “it’s just that one went all the way through.”

The small hospital room was lit by the single oil lamp on the washstand, and the tiny window showed that it was still the dark of early morning. Malfoy had been unconscious for a whole day.

“Two policemen came and took my statement,” I said, rolling off of my cot and standing on shaky legs. “The Land Rover was stolen from a business here in Ubundu, so they took that too.”

He struggled to sit up, swinging his bare legs around to hang over the edge of the narrow cot. His impish grin slipped a little as he looked at me through the gloom. His pale hair gleamed in the low light, like it had gleamed once in that room in China, and under the afternoon sun of Lisbon, and under all those chandeliers in Florence: tempting.

I stepped in front of him and pushed that one rebellious lock of gold from his sweaty forehead.

“You could’ve died.” I frowned.

His hand shot up and caught my wrist and he pulled me closer between his knees.

"Granger," he smirked again, his breath close to my cheek, "you're not grumpy with me, are you?"

He smelled like mud and blood and sweat. Perspiration ran down my own neck, plastering the curls there. Brownish bloodstains from various scrapes I’d sustained stood out gruesomely on the once white top that clung damply to my skin.

I didn't pull away, but I turned my head to avoid his silvery eyes.

"I'm so far past grumpy I can't even see it in the rear view mirror. I...ahh. Oh!"

He had dipped his head to brush his lips tantalisingly over my exposed neck, his shallow exhalations blowing the wisps of hair out of his path. He released my wrist but his arm snaked firmly around my waist as his lips brushed lower, nudging aside the strap of my top to skim across my tingling collarbone.

"You're shaking," he murmured wonderingly.

"I can't help it," I protested stupidly. I couldn't. I wanted this. Had wanted this for longer than I could admit. My body and heart wanted to melt against him, to torture him the way he was torturing me. To trace along that sharp jaw with my own almost-kisses, and bite...

"Nnnmmm," I said as his teeth grazed my neck again, teasingly light. My hand found his firm stomach and smoothed up to rest against his chest, a shield between us. I could feel his heart pounding wildly under my palm and my own heart was surely bounding to match.

But it wasn’t enough to just want it.

"Please," I began.

"Hermio—"

"Please stop," I choked, pressing my hand more firmly against him. "Oh, please stop."

He froze and I felt a current of hot magic run through us. I couldn't tell where it started, but it was something terrifying.

"Don't do this to me," he said simply, his nose finding the hollow of my throat so his rough cheek met my bared shoulder.

"To you?" I could have laughed if I weren't about to cry, "that's a good one Draco." I found his hand on my waist and prised it gently away, but his grip only tightened around my fingers.

"You can't do this," his voice had gained a hard edge.

I jerked away roughly then, my fingers aching, and reached for my wand in my back pocket.

"You're bloody killing me, Granger," he said pleadingly, "why couldn't you run off into the sunset with Weasley and let me alone?"

"You selfish, hateful boy," I said, "you have no right..."

"Tell me why I always ruin everything I touch, Granger? Even this, the one thing almost close to real in my life, and I break it somehow."

"It was real to me," I whispered, backing away, "but I gave that dream up back in Italy. You gave it up."

"Don't leave me alone tonight."

"How can you ask that?"

"I meant, dammit Granger, just sit with me and talk so I don't have to think about this shoulder or going back to England and the end of everything."

He collapsed back on the creaking cot and rubbed his hand furiously over his eyes.

I felt for the door.

"I'll fetch the doctor for some more morphine. It will help you sleep and..."

"Please, Hermione. Just one last night. You know you love to talk. Please."

Please.

Against every smidgen of good judgment I pocketed my wand and walked back to the bedside. I stood over him and closed my eyes briefly against his shocked expression.

“I will tell you one story,” I said, “about a very brave Slytherin. A relative of yours in fact.” I pushed my cot right up against his and lay down, rolling onto my side.

I looked at him, meeting his serious silvery stare. His hand crept to my hair and he twined his fingers through the curls, spreading them across his pillow.

"His name was Regulus Black."

 

 

 

 

 

 

April 22nd

 

“You could still take the portkey,” Malfoy said. His exhausted voice held a hint of wistful reluctance.

“Nonsense,” I said briskly, turning the page of my Shakespeare, “and miss seeing you take your first airplane ride?”

“Othello,” he murmured. “I should have listened to you that day.”

“What are you on about?” I asked, looking up at him bemusedly.

“You told me,” he muttered, closing his eyes and leaning back on the bench, “on that train up in Xinjiang, what it cost Othello to listen to his friends instead of his heart. Everything.”

We had been driven back to Kisangani by a Dutch doctor from the WHO, and were now waiting in the airport—the proper, commercial airport—for our first flight to Paris. The rigorous journey had already taken every last ounce of energy from Malfoy. The dark circles under his eyes matched the deep bruise on his cheek, and he rested his eyes at every opportunity.

“Othello?” I murmured, still not understanding.

“It was easy to believe that you didn’t want me at your birthday, and that it was all a Gryffindor prank. And then in Florence...” he tailed off, his chin tucking towards his chest.

I waited for him to continue, but he slid down on the seat instead, his head dropping to my shoulder.

I remembered that train ride in China, and the way I’d fallen asleep on his shoulder in the heat of the afternoon, and the gentle hand smoothing my hair back as I woke.

Tears pricked my eyes, and I shut my book with trembling fingers. Everything hurt. Everything was such a mess. And we had a long trip back to London to go.

 

 

May 1st, 2004: London

Falling asleep on the sofa was doing my neck in. I groaned as I stretched and rolled to my side, cracking my tired eyelids open. The sight of a figure in Slytherin green crouching about a foot from my face shocked me awake in an instant.

“Libby!” I scrambled to sit upright, startling the tiny elf and sending her toppling backwards off my coffee table.

“Miss Hermione!” she squeaked, clambering back to her feet, “Miss Hermione is okay?”

“Libby,” I said, rubbing my eyes, “what are you doing here?”

“Libby knows that Miss Hermione is sick,” she explained hurriedly, “and last time Miss Hermione is being sick, Master Malfoy and Libby is bringing Miss Hermione ice cream and a smelly curry.” She wrinkled her little nose.

“I’m okay now,” I assured her. “It was a bug I caught from the water in Africa.”

“Miss Hermione will come see Master Malfoy now?”

“Did Malfoy send you here?” I asked.

“No-o,” Libby prevaricated, “Master Malfoy is not exactly sending Libby.” She looked a bit furtive now. “Master Malfoy says that it is not really right to follow Miss Hermione, but he won’t stop Libby, since Libby is a free elf.” She straightened, beaming again.

Comprehension dawned.

“Were you ever in the British Library, Libby,” I asked shrewdly.

“Is that being the big one with the bricks and all the books?”

“Yes,” I laughed, feeling a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

“Maybe Libby is going there once or twice.”

“Libby,” I shook my head, “I’d love to chat, but I’ve got to go. I have a lot of work to catch up on, and a report to owl before Monday. Thanks for caring about me enough to come.”

“But, Miss—”

“Goodbye for now, Libby.”

 

~•~~•~~•~

 

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was a wasteland of deserted cubicles. I hurried to my office, purposely going around the back side of the unit. There were stacks of memos on my desk, and on top of those, a thick yellowish envelope addressed in emerald-green ink.

I opened the envelope first, pulling out a neatly written missive on a thick sheet of parchment. It was from Professor McGonagall, replying to my inquiry regarding translating Dumbledore’s _Tales of Beedle the Bard_. Lying on my sofa, alternating between sleep and vomiting into a wastepaper basket, I had thought up the brilliant plan of translating the original and selling that version, using the proceeds to help fund projects at the school in the Congo.

Apparently McGonagall approved of the plan, and her letter offered a book on runic translation, and also the use of some of Dumbledore’s personal notes on the tales.

It would be a good project. Something new, and fresh, and just mine to work on. A new focus. I could do the translations in my own time and still handle my work for the DMLE and the Florence library. I’d pored over those tales a thousand times. This would be a breeze.

I stared through my office’s empty doorway, remembering uneasily the frustration of reading and rereading the slightly sappy stories, searching for Dumbledore’s clues, when the doorway was empty no more.

“Working on a Saturday,” Harry said, yawning broadly. “You must be feeling back to normal.”

“I’ve been out for two weeks. I have piles to finish,” I lamented. “What are you doing in?”

“Report for Accident-Reversal. Torres got himself transfigured into a tree again somehow, and this time it was on my shift.”

“Typical,” I said, trying to smile.

“Anyway,” Harry yawned again, “Malfoy’s already gone.”

My heart thudded painfully.

“Gone?” I managed.

“Yeah. He waited for you again, but then Zabini came back and they had a row. You know how they argue, under their breath, but still really heated, and then he went home. About an hour ago,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Narcissa was looking for him just now, too.”

“I wasn’t looking for him,” I said firmly.

Harry looked at me sharply, suddenly the attentive friend I’d come to treasure.

“Did you two have a fight or something?”

“What do you mean?” I dodged.

He came into my office and shut the door.

“I mean,” he sat down decidedly, “did Malfoy finally blow it? I knew he would.”He slumped back in the chair.

“Harry Potter,” I stiffened, all the stress and hurt of the last months coalescing in my gut, “you need to start explaining yourself. Now.”

He looked at me again, a little bit of sheepishness battling with the determination on his face.

“Do you mean,” he began, “that you went off into the darkest jungle with Draco Malfoy, and he hadn’t ever told you... but he even came to Grimmauld to practice his Patronus!”

“Harry,” I said evenly, “I’m rather short on sleep and patience and restraint right now...”

“He was the one that asked to work with you,” Harry blurted.

I stared at him in shock.

“When?”

“Well,” Harry wouldn’t quite meet my eyes, “actually, about two years ago, when you came to the Department.”

“What?” My mind was spinning. “But I remember... that day in your office... I overheard him say...”

But what had he said? It had seemed so clear at the time...

_“Six months! You’ve got to be kidding me!”_

“He wanted me to put you two together for a year,” Harry went on, “but I was pretty sure you’d kill him before six months was out, so I shortened it. I told him, flat out, no the first time he asked. He was still on probation, and the Department was only really keeping him around for his legilimency. I told him that I would ask you to do it if he would work for Arthur Weasley in Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. I was positive he’d say no to that, but he did it, for the whole year.”

“Oh, Harry,” I drew my hand across my eyes wearily. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

His face was red with a guilty flush, but he soldiered doggedly on.

“As a part of our deal, he continued to consult with his legilimency, but only if I didn’t tell you.”

“So you used me?” I blazed up.

“I told you that you didn’t have to do it!” Harry exclaimed, “and I even told you I didn’t trust him! You said yes anyway. I couldn’t believe it. Ginny knew you would, though.”

“The pair of you?” I threw up my hands, not so much angry as extremely indignant and a little bit embarrassed that I had missed so many obvious signals over the past year.

“Hermione,” Harry said, looking slightly ill, “do you think he might be in love—”

“Do. Not. Say. It.” I jumped up. “I am extremely annoyed with you right now, and I think—I have to go.”

~•~~•~~•~

 

Disoriented, I grappled for balance as I took in the warm green sunlight that filtered through a lush wood of ancient oaks. I turned slowly to find myself staring into the shocked blue eyes of Narcissa Malfoy. Having a vague recollection of the front of Malfoy Manor with its formidable entrance and claustrophobia-inducing hedges, I suppose I had expected high walls and imposing ironwork, but between us ran a low, friendly garden fence that was interrupted away to my left by a charming kissing gate.

Narcissa Malfoy herself could not have surprised me more in this moment. She wore plain muggle denims and a neat button down tunic, and held a pair of simply too muggle to be believed tarnished garden shears. Her impeccable blonde hair coiled smoothly at her nape.

I quickly deduced that I had landed behind the Manor as close to the drawing room—that bit cemented in my memory—as I could without breaching the wards. For this was clearly a homely kitchen garden, and over there, that was certainly a kitchen door that opened to what appeared to be a noisy kitchen where small elf-shaped blurs bustled about importantly.

"I...I was looking for Malfoy. Draco, I mean." Duh, Hermione. Brightest witch of your age?

Narcissa drew herself up imperiously and set the shears on the fence between us. Was that a threat? A warning? A signal that she didn't mean to skewer me with them quite yet?

She brushed the non-existent dirt from her pale hands and studied me coldly.

I'd played my single card so I stared back, trying to fight off an irrational bout of nerves. Maybe she was actually an apparition, sent to frighten off nosy muggles that wandered too close to the house. Her icy glare could frighten even the most determined Sunday Morning Lady.

"Have you tried his home?"

I jumped.

"Um... I thought..."

"Draco does not live here Ms. Granger."

So this was where Draco had learned that old, oft used trick of inflection. She may as well have called me 'Slime Mould Granger.'

"Oh," I said.

I could see, as plain as day, that she was warring with herself, torn between slapping me with news I did not currently have, or protecting a piece of information, the sharing of which would be painful.

"We...spoke yesterday," she paused, steely and unbending, "at his FLAT," lip curled, "but he hasn't lived here for over a year."

"Oh," I said again.

"I don't know where he is."

My heart clenched at her reluctant admission that so clearly wounded.

"I..." It suddenly occurred to me how very risky and brave was the thing Narcissa had done that had helped to end the battle at Hogwarts. She had lied to Voldemort, thrown away everything she had followed, on the mere, desperate chance that her boy might still be alive and saved.

This thought humbled me. It hadn't been a noble or completely selfless action, but it had taken courage. I looked at her carefully then.

"Thank you."

She stiffened and her expression changed from doubtful to suspicious. She eyed me warily as I continued.

"You have a very beautiful garden," I said. Her hands twisted in a palpably human display of nervousness. Emboldened and willing her to understand me I added, "it is clear that it is well loved."

To my relief Narcissa's glare softened. She met my gaze with dignified contemplation for a heartbeat before inclining her head gracefully.

"Thank you."

 

~•~~•~~•~

 

Glad of my jacket in the brisk Scottish air, a drastic change from mild Wiltshire, I made my way out of bustling Hogsmeade toward the castle. Spring flowers, later here than in London, edged the path with sprinklings of blues and whites and yellows. Even the Dark Forest didn't seem so dark as birds sang cheerfully from the blooming trees.

Positively idyllic.

The Hogwarts grounds were quiet as it was a beautiful Hogsmeade weekend, and the castle loomed against a clear sky. Hesitating, I curved instead away from the path and toward Hagrid's hut. Round and halfway wild and nearly identical to its predecessor, it squatted on the edge of the forest with a homey stream of smoke rising from the crooked chimney.

My steps slowed as I admired the riotous garden that seemed to have taken over a goodish portion of the sloping ground between Hagrid's and the Whomping Willow, with rows and rows of spring vegetables and one long line of some kind of vibrant shrub that seemed to be blossoming electric pink flowers before my eyes.

I was not stalling. I was strolling.

An enormous pair of muddy boots sat on Hagrid's stone doorstep next to a basket of brilliantly orange carrots. The smell of earth and trees and freshness overwhelmed me as I stood next to the carrots like a lemon, with my hand poised to knock on the thick oak door.

What in heaven's name was I doing? I had come up here with some vague idea that seeing Hagrid would put things to right. That he would put me to right, with his comforting teas and sympathetic noises while I spilled out my heartache like I had as a child who had feared she'd lost her two best friends forever over a squabble about a rat and a cat and a broomstick.

Was that really it? Did I really want to be comforted, or was it something else? The uncomfortable realisation struck me as I stood in the sun with a sharp wind tangling my hair, that I wasn't seeking solace, I was seeking empathy. I was seeking recognition of my wrongedness from the one person who could exactly relate. I was seeking some thread of justification to tie me to my past hurts, a justification from the one who had borne the same bullying and attacks and unfairness that I had.

I'd read once 'unforgiveness is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies.' Did I wish Draco Malfoy dead? Had I ever, really? Hadn't I truly forgiven him quite thoroughly for all of our past on that brutal September night in Xinjiang, with the stars like ice above us and the howl of the wind an echo of the darkness we had faced together?

Then, after everything since, I had trusted Draco with my life in that jungle. Could I start to trust him with my heart? Could we begin to be friends again? Whatever my confused feelings in the past, I wanted that now, a friend.

And answers. 

My knuckles had barely brushed the door when it was jerked open and Hagrid loomed up before me

"'Mione!" He exclaimed, looking much more startled than pleased to see me. His grizzled hair stood on end, making me feel quite well groomed in comparison. His eyes darted up the path toward the castle. I turned and looked over my shoulder, but there was no one in sight.

"Hi, Hagrid," I attempted cheerfulness at this less than encouraging greeting, "is this a bad time?"

"Course not," he said gruffly, dropping his gaze down to me and smiling uncertainly, "come on in for a cuppa." He gave me a crushing one-armed hug and hustled me rather hastily inside the warm hut. He seemed extremely nervous and I couldn't help checking his hearth for any signs of a granite coloured egg, the similarities of his manner too exactly matching my memory of that night we'd discovered his illicit dragon dealings.

He also seemed to be hiding something behind his back, and as I pretended not to look, I saw him stuff a long grey scarf into one of his pockets.

Two used tea settings sat on his rough table, and I turned on him suspiciously.

"Is there someone else here?" I asked, running a hand across the back of one drawn out chair.

"No, no," Hagrid glanced at the door before catching himself. "Take off yer coat and come see wha' I've got."

I laid my jacket over the chair and joined him next to the lowly burning fire. He gestured proudly to an old wooden apple crate. I trepidatiously stepped closer to look inside, ready to spring back if the contents struck.

"Oh Hagrid," I breathed instead, "how lovely!" The box contained a lazily purring black and white mother cat with three small kittens. They all had familiarly squashed faces and unnecessarily fluffy coats and mischievously knowing expressions. I reached for the smallest, a cuddly marmalade, and snuggled him to me.

"Now tha' one's been claimed by young Mal—er, someone ya don' know."

I looked at Hagrid curiously. He neatly avoided my gaze, reaching into the crate himself for the little grey kitten.

"I thought o' this one fer ya Hermione," his large hand totally engulfed the raucously purring ball of fuzz, "as she's the keenest and the smartest, like yerself."

"How old are they?" I traded him kittens and the little grey girl snuggled happily down into my cardigan, revving like a tiny engine.

"Couple o' weeks," Hagrid replied, "so you'll have ter come back up in a few ter take her home."

"They must be Crooks's great-great-grandchildren or something," I could feel my face split with an idiotic grin, "they're too much like him not to be—the rogue."

"I thought the same," Hagrid nodded. "Sit and I'll pour ya a cup here."

We sat together over steaming strong cups of tea, and I brought Hagrid up to date on my adventures since I'd last had a proper chat with him around Christmas. He was attentive, but didn't seem particularly surprised at my recounting of the near fiasco in the Congo.

"Did Harry tell you about any of this?" I asked suddenly.

"Heh?" Hagrid looked caught, "Harry? Er, yeah, it musta been Harry tha' mentioned it. Tha' would explain it alright." He looked a little relieved, but I didn't buy it for a second.

"Hmmm." I swirled the dregs of my tea in the cup. "Did he mention the way we trapped the Lethifold in the jar, and how he was shot saving my life?”

“That were a clever move,” Hagrid said eagerly, “but he kinda skipped over the part when he got shot—” he realised my ruse too late and guilt spread across his expressive features.

"I KNEW it Hagrid!" I leapt up, causing my kitten to dig her claws into my chest in alarm. "Malfoy was here, wasn't he?"

"Now 'Mione," Hagrid wrung his hands, "that was a rotten trick. I weren't supposed ter say anything about it..."

"What did he tell you?" I demanded, putting my kitten safely back with her mother and siblings.

"On'y bout Africa. An’ he mainly ‘pologised fer bein' so awful to me before when he was at school, but he told me specially not to tell you he'd come up."

"Oh that ferret," I hissed, but it felt like an Alsatian that had been lying on my heart had just bounded off after a rabbit.

"'Mione," Hagrid began, "I think he must be in lo—"

"Don't," I threw up my hands quellingly, "don't you say it too. I'm sick of everyone on the planet saying it except the one person who should have the guts to say it if it was ever true. Not that I believe it for a moment."

"Why not? You're right easy to love!" Hagrid exclaimed.

I stared at him for a heartbeat and then embarrassingly burst into tears. Hagrid gave a helpless grunt and gathered me against his side in a smothering hug. I cried ugly tears into his scratchy, smelly old coat. I cried because Hagrid believed I was lovable, and, although we didn't share the same ideas about what defines a lovable magical creature, his belief meant much to me.

I snuck a hand into his pocket and whipped out the grey scarf before he could stop me. I pressed it to my face and breathed in the familiar spicy, expensive cologne.

"Thanks Hagrid," I dug a tissue from my bag, wiped my eyes and blew my nose noisily, "I'll give this back to Malfoy in London." I wrapped the scarf into a bundle and tucked it in my own pocket.

"Will you stay for dinner up at the castle?" Hagrid followed me penitently to the door.

"I don't think so," I said, a fierce determination building inside me, "I'll just pop up to get my book from the library and say hello to Professor McGonagall before I head home."

"Right." Hagrid looked miserable.

"Don't you dare be sad Hagrid," I commanded in my bossiest voice, "because you have given me two gifts today and that means you can look forward to something special from me when I come back for my kitten. Just don't name her anything till I've thought of something good. I can't concentrate right now."

Hagrid nodded in a kind of stunned fashion as I marched from his home with a wave over my shoulder.

"Don' be too long comin' back Hermione!"

I continued my march up the steep hill towards the castle, not for the first time wishing I was in better shape. The crisp air stole my breath right away.I had paused to rest about three fourths of the way up the newly constructed stone steps, when I heard a loud rustling in the bushes, a series of pounding steps, and a hollow thump. This was followed by a round of swearing and a loud groan. I hurried forward in alarm. I recognised that swearing.

"Malfoy!" I exclaimed as I rushed into the cloister. "Was that hollow sound your head?"

"They must have lowered the crosspiece on the arch," he moaned. He was seated on one of the stone benches, head cradled in his hands.

"Or you've grown a foot taller since you used to race up here after Care of Magical Creatures so you could torment me and my friends." I strode over to him, hands on my hips, but he refused to look up.

"You weren't supposed to realise that," he grumbled. "Was trying to avoid you this time."

"Some wizard you are then.” I knelt on the bench next to him and pushed his hand away from his face. A spectacular knot was already rising at his widow's peak. He tried to turn away sulkily, but I held his face still. I could feel a muscle jumping in his cheek under my palm.

"You know," I said gently, withdrawing his scarf from my pocket and looping it fussily over his shoulders, “girls like to take care of their men sometimes. It stirs a sort of maternal feeling in them."

Malfoy snorted. "Matern—wait. Their men?" His chin jerked and I was suddenly the one enjoying the advantage of height from my kneeling position as his eyes flashed up into mine.

I had meant to speak plainly then, but some instinct screamed that this was the time to give him that chance.

So I shrugged one shoulder casually and said, "hypothetical girls."

His scowl was truly worthy to be called a scowl, but his shoulders squared and he faced me with a determined jaw.

With a smile I laid a gentle kiss on his forehead, causing him to inhale sharply and snake an arm around my waist.

"Hermione," his voice was stern, but he seemed to have run out of words.

"Hmmm?" I asked, blowing lightly across the spot I had kissed. My knees were beginning to ache, rather, and teasing him at this angle was giving me a crick in the neck. I shifted around to sit on his lap and he groaned. I pretended to pull away but he dragged me back to him. He was like a furnace beneath his cashmere jumper. 

"Hermione," he began again, "I used to believe that the reason I couldn’t stop thinking about you was because you were the one who was out of place in my world. It didn’t matter that you always mastered every spell more quickly, or memorised a theory without trying. I lived for the days when I received a higher potions score than you, but I always knew you were something above me. It was easy to listen to my family, or other Slytherins, and put you down, but I still always knew.”

“Draco...”

"Let me talk for once Granger?" He settled me more firmly on his lap.

"Mmmm..."

"But it took ending up on the wrong side of everything to save me."

"Oh?"

"And I have changed. I've been trying to show you... to prove to you that I can be good enough. That was China, but you outshone me there, again. And that's why I really skived off your birthday last year. Don't act surprised," he tightened his grip on my waist as I feigned annoyance, "I know Potter-ette told you something about it, but I couldn't face your French friend."

"Helene?" I didn't have to feign surprise at this.

"Yes," Malfoy grimaced. "In Oxford she was so sickeningly proud of her husband and his accomplishments, but I kept comparing her to you. Would you ever be able to speak to your friends or a near stranger about me with such unapologetic pride? I couldn't see it, so I couldn't face her. At Christmas I thought, maybe you knew, but then you left the party so suddenly. Lisbon was...a glimpse of heaven..I almost felt like it was in reach..."

He closed his eyes as though pained. “But then Italy...”

I waited with bated breath as he steeled himself.

“All I wanted, desperately, was for you to turn around, in that exquisite grey dress, and look for me the way I was looking for you. Staring at you. But you never looked around, and my pride was stung. It was easier to stand in front of an enemy’s bullet for you than to put down that pride in front of a friend for you. Never again. Never—”

"Don't," I interrupted. "You were going along so nicely. You really are very lovely when you've had a bump on the head. Shall I give you anoth—"

But Malfoy silenced me by covering my mouth with his in a slanting kiss that took my breath away. I felt like an old-fashioned Hollywood starlet as he bent me back over his arm. He growled against my lips when I pulled away with a gasp.

"Mmmm," I hummed in approval as he kissed me soundly again, and this time I slid my fingers across his scalp for purchase.

"Mmmm...Malfoy," I tugged his head back by his baby soft hair, "we can't stay here like this..."

"Can so," he tried to capture my lips again but I twisted away with a smile.

"Children will be along in a moment."

"Good," he stole a peck on the corner of my mouth. "Give them a real lesson for a change."

"I've got to go to the library still."

"Good. Plenty of hidden corners there."

"I've got to see Professor McGonagall."

"Good. The old battle axe will make you stay for dinner and then I can finally snog you out in the dark on the Quidditch pitch."

"What?" I exclaimed indignantly as he buried his face against my shoulder, vibrating with suppressedlaughter. "The Quidditch pitch?"

"Just for starters..."

"Draco..."

"It's too bad I don't have my Quidditch kit..."

"This is an eerily complete fantasy for someone who hated me not so long ago."

"Don't be ridiculous Granger.” His grey eyes flashed. "I've been half in love with you since the day I met you."

I froze in his arms, my heart thudding violently. I searched his face and saw a rare openness there.

"Truly?" I sounded quite skeptical, despite myself.

"Of course. Even though I made a royal hash of things, this year with you has been the best year of my life. I just didn't know how to love you until I got to know you and could love you more than I loved myself, which was pretty easy after I realised how worthless I'd become."

"Oh, Draco! Never worthless," I cupped his face again, "just a little lost."

I lay my cheek against his and we sat for some delicious moments in silence. I felt his hand gathering up my hair and then smoothing it back down. I reluctantly disentangled from his arms and rose on shaky legs. He pushed up as well.

"I wasn't ready a year ago," I told him. "Even six months ago I didn't really understand what I needed to know. I...I...I'm in love with you too, Draco Malfoy, and now I even love you, if there's a distinction."

We stood in the middle of the empty corridor like two shy kids, staring at each other in wonder. He bent down and brushed his lips sweetly across mine.

"What do you think your mother will say?" I asked when he straightened. His mouth quirked.

"Quite a lot, I expect."

I placed my hand on his chest again, already regretting the loss of his warmth.

"I thought you'd feel cold, somehow," I smiled up at him again.

"I was," his own smile was hesitant.

"I still have a lot I want to discuss with you," I tried to sound serious again. "I have a million and one questions. There was Baghdad and then, I mean, in the Congo, you said you heard me calling..."

"Hermione," he was grinning now.

"Yes?"

He gathered me against his chest so I had to stretch on my tiptoes to meet him as he murmured in my ear.

"Please don't ever change."

"Now you're the one who’s being ridiculous."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What an amazing adventure it has been, sharing this story with everyone. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you! A million and one ‘thank yous’ to everyone who has read and liked, and ESPECIALLY commented on this work. It has made me realise how important that kind of encouragement is to authors, and I can’t imagine finishing this project on my own. 
> 
> I have so enjoyed this journey, that I am already working on the next adventure in this magical world. 
> 
> I would love and appreciate feedback on this story to help my writing in the future. 
> 
> Thank you again. 
> 
> Xoxo


End file.
